


Maybe We Don't Need No Reason, Maybe We're Perfect Strangers

by lapetitemort20



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal, Baking, Banter, Christmas Fluff, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Do not read in public, Domestic Fluff, Except It’s Day Time, F/M, First Meetings, Food Porn, Gratuitous Smut, Gyms, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, Masturbation, Meet the Family, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, NSFW, Oh Wait Now We Have a Plot, One Night Stands, Or Is It Meet-Fuck?, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, RPF, Scott Moir Back Appreciation Fic, Scott Moir Hands Appreciation Fic, Seriously There’s No Plot in This Chapter, Sex, Shameless Smut, Showers, Smut, So Much Dirty Talk, Sorry for the Light Angst, Speed Skating, Tessa Virtue Fashion Appreciation Fic, That Blue Dress, That Clit Sucking Vibrator, That Pussy Shot, That Sheer Bodysuit, The Author Regrets Nothing, They Just Won’t Do What I Want Them To, Those Back Photos, What Was I Thinking?, Will They Won’t They, butt play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-07-18 00:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19965442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitemort20/pseuds/lapetitemort20
Summary: When singles skater Tessa meets gym-going Scott.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When singles skater Tessa Virtue decides to make a comeback bid in order to win at the Olympics, she has no idea how much her world will be turned upside down by a perfect stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but well...I can’t help myself!
> 
> I blame @RookandPawn1 for sending me tweets of S’s back.

Fuck, he looks good. Her eyes roam across his naked torso and catches his sun kissed freckle-dusted back in the mirror. He’s doing a few reps of sandbag lateral lunges and she is liking what she sees.

Very much. Maybe a little too much.

She bites her lip to stifle the sound of want that comes up gravelly in her throat. _It’s been too long of a dry spell_ , she thinks, if she’s eyeing random men at the gym close to her sister’s place like pieces of meat. It’s got to be something like two years - which is more of a drought, a famine really.

To be fair, it’s not actually her fault. She doesn’t get the chance to meet many men and her dating life is pretty much non-existent. As an elite athlete herself, it’s only natural that her off-ice training requires her to spend ridiculous hours at the gym, and if that’s the only time she gets to enjoy some eye candy, so be it.

It’s the off season before the next quad begins but really she’s coming back to competitive skating after two years of ‘retirement’, and she’s visiting Jordan in Toronto, managing to squeeze in some training time just around the corner from the apartment.

Unfortunately, it’s one of those commercial gyms, where pumped up bros spend way too much time on their arms and pecs and not enough focus on balancing out the physique in their legs. She can only sigh in gratitude that it’s off-peak hours so the gym isn’t full of them and she has enough privacy to complete her workout in peace. 

Thankfully, this guy didn’t seem to be jacked on whatever new trend of poison the fitspo community blindly followed; in fact, his build was slim, yet wiry and taut. Strong, but not obviously so.

She goes back to her exercise reps, at the moment torturing herself with her apparatus of choice: a medicine ball and some Russian twists. Well, she’s got to keep those abs ripped somehow, despite the short break.

Her eyes keep coming back to him; his easy laughter and chatty demeanour completely pulling her focus, as he trades comments and jokes with a couple of the personal trainers on hand. 

She won’t lie. She’s intrigued. He’s not conventionally handsome or extraordinarily tall, but there’s something about him that’s striking. He’s got floppy dark hair beneath his reversed cap, intense brown eyes that look like they could pass off as hazel, a sharp nose that might be too big for his face if it weren’t balanced out by expressive brows, high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut you in half. And that’s just his face. Body wise, well...she just might be persuaded to feel up his toned biceps, or test out the smooth hardness of his chest and abs, maybe run her hands down that sinewy back to map his constellation of freckles, and cup his perky ass. All in the name of research, of course.

He catches her staring at him in the mirror. _Shit_. He quirks up an eyebrow and lifts up two fingers in a mock salute at her reflection. 

Her pussy clenches and she can feel that she’s already wet between her legs at this arrogant gesture. He knows she’s watching him now. And she knows he’s watching her right back.

She moves on to the bosu ball for her next lap of balancing exercises and tries to avoid his line of sight but all she can do is feel his eyes boring holes into her body. Jesus, they haven’t even said a word to each other and already she’s just about willing to do anything he wants.

This is so clichéd, she rolls her eyes. And so unlike her. She doesn’t just pick strangers up from the gym, from anywhere to be honest, no matter how beautiful. What is this, a bad 80s Flashdance-inspired porn film with chintzy saxophone music playing in the background?

God, she hopes it will be hardcore at least. Wait a minute - did she just think that? She must really be desperate. Unluckily for her, she didn’t pack her vibrator in her suitcase for the trip. Besides, she travelled with a carry-on this time around and god forbid if any airport security officer was going to check her luggage, only to find that the wholesome, three-time Olympic medal winning singles skater ice princess Tessa Virtue never leaves home without her rabbit vibrator.

He’s moved on to the battle ropes now and she simply cannot look away. It’s like some kind of magnetic pull that forces her to watch him, his forearms flexing as he batters the ropes in waves, his abs clenching at the effort, his muscled back tensing as he leans backwards slightly, his powerful thighs squared in a half squat. _Show off_. But the virility that comes off him in ripples is too powerful to ignore.

The way she sees it, there’s only one of two ways this is going to end. One, she’s going to carry on with her workout and pretend she hasn’t even noticed him, then go back to Jordan’s and get off in the shower. Or two, she could actually throw caution to the wind and find a way to fuck his brains out.

She’s not entirely sure which way she’s going to go when she feels a presence next to her as she’s lifting her legs up into a pike pose on the fitball. It’s not the most flattering of exercises she would choose to be approached in, but okay, she’ll bite. She’s upside down with her face facing her palms on the floor as she rolls the tops of her feet along the fitball, snapping her butt up so she’s in a modified handstand. She repeats this ten times, maybe squeezing all her muscles a little tighter than she normally would.

There’s a sound of throat clearing. She lifts her feet off the fitball and brings herself into a true handstand and wheels out of it with practiced ease. Her turn to show off.

“It’s a yes from me,” he says, as he gives her a slow clap. It’s the guy she’s been pretty much undressing with her eyes the past half hour. So he’s got a sense of humour.

“There’s more where that came from,” she flirts. Wait, what? _What type of hussy is she turning into?_

Another throat clearing. “Do you want to maybe grab a coffee after? We could get some extra whip? Or a chai, because, you know, I like to get dirty...” he attempts a joke but trails off aware that he might sound like an idiot, yet both of them knowing full well coffee is not going to be on the menu.

She actually cackles in laughter but then has the decency to blush, because they’ve come this far, which is to say: not very, but fast. And he’s actually really hot up close.

“I’m staying just around the corner…we could have coffee…there,” she offers brazenly. _What the hell has gotten into her?_ Oh right, it’s the end of her two years of yeses, just before she has to start saying no again.

The mood between them changes instantly. Everything feels heavier, more charged. He nods, understanding what she means, taking off his cap and pushing a hand through his unruly hair. “Let’s go,” he manages to utter, his tone hoarse and taking on a sense of urgency.

There’s a flurry of activity as she grabs her bag from the locker and he gathers his things whilst he calls out a quick goodbye to the gym staff. She doesn’t stop to think that her behaviour is maybe just a little reckless, because there seems to be a gentleness to him that makes her feel safe. They don’t talk as they cross the road together quickly, both of them nervously checking the other, incase there’s any missed signals.

Nope, they still very obviously want each other. The energy is palpable. 

She knows that Jordan’s at work and she’s quite sure her sister wouldn’t mind her bringing him over. In fact, she was the one who’s been espousing the benefits of a good old-fashioned hook up over the last five days, claiming that an orgasm or two would be the perfect way to settle Tessa’s anxiety before she starts her comeback season leading up to the next Olympic cycle.

They’re in the lift heading up the ten storeys to the apartment when she feels him bump into her shoulder to take off the edge, then slipping his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers gently, grounding her. They almost run down the corridor, giggling nervously and she’s fiddling with the keys of Jordan’s apartment door when he can’t resist pressing his body against her back, his lips finding the juncture where her shoulder meets her neck, lowering a searing kiss and languorous swipe of his tongue there as she feels a rumble of a growl in his chest.

Once they’re inside, she doesn’t even know how it happens, but he’s got her pushed up against the door, and it’s all hands, heavy breathing, and gym clothes being peeled off in haste. 

They’re still sweaty from their previous workout but breathless from the anticipation of what’s about to happen next.

“You should know, my name’s—” he starts.

But she shuts him down with her lips catching his in a kiss that has him seeing stars and feeling dizzy. “Shhhh...no names.”

He’s so turned on, he feels his cock harden impossibly, more than it already is. He’s never done this before, a casual fuck, but there’s something about this dark-haired beauty that makes him _want_ so much.

She lifts her arms to wriggle out of her sports bra, and he slides down to his knees peeling her leggings and panties off with him. He’s already down to his boxer briefs, and he buries his face into her pelvis, breathing in her heady scent of sweat mingled with desire. She’s bare right in front of him, a thin strip of hair dressing her pussy and he shoots out his tongue to kiss her there. She nearly buckles from pleasure as soon as his tongue touches her dripping entrance, the jolt of electricity running through her entire body, igniting a fire she doesn’t want to extinguish.

She parts her legs shamelessly, guiding his head with her hands as she threads her fingers through his luxuriant hair, bucking against his mouth as she moans loudly. He’s licking up into her cunt, sucking at her clit and pushing his tongue into her, as hard and deep as he can.

 _Fuck, he’s never felt so stiff in his life_ , he thinks, as he grabs a hold of his cock underneath his boxer briefs and starts to stroke himself slowly with one hand while the other pushes her pussy lips aside so he can gain greater access to her sultry center. She tastes tangy and salty and he can’t get enough of her, as he nuzzles his nose into her and hums his praise. He feels her gasp, rather than hears her arousal. She likes this. He wants to keep pleasing her and hear more of those sensuous noises so he slides a finger, then two, into the heart of her wet folds.

Her breathing hitches, and before long she starts fucking herself down onto his fingers. “More,” she pants.

And so he slides in another finger, keeping pace with her gyrations. He returns to place his mouth on her and she starts keening even louder. He wants nothing but for her to come around his mouth and fingers, but he knows her release will be greater if he stops her now, so he can build up to a more powerful crescendo.

He pumps his fingers slowly then draws them out reluctantly to the choked sound of her frustration. He keeps kissing her there though, light and teasing, but she’s having none of it. She drags him up and he kisses her full on the mouth, lips parting her own, exploring her, letting her taste herself in his mouth as well as his fingers that he brings up to her. His free hand descends to tease her nipples and pinch them as they harden beneath his touch, then dips his mouth to suck on her peaks alternately. She draws a sharp breath and her hands which are palming his cock through his boxer briefs push down on the waistband impatiently. His impressive length springs free and she’s already got him in her hands, stroking the velvet steel of his cock, coaxing him to full attention.

She moans, elated at his size and girth, eager to take him into her mouth. She pushes him backwards and before he knows it, they’re down on the floor, and her hot wet mouth is surrounding his intoxicating length with a desperation he’s never known in his life. She’s licking up the underside of his cock, his balls, charting the terrain of it all, sucking on the ridge of his frenulum before engulfing the tip of his cock’s swollen head, swirling her tongue back and forth and up and down while she pumps the rest of him with skilful twists of her palms. He’s in fucking heaven, but he wants to pleasure her too.

“Stop,” he sounds out in a strangled voice.

She looks up at him, her emerald green eyes questioning, her mouth filled by him. It’s a sight he won’t be forgetting too soon. She pulls off him, with stripes of saliva joining his cock to her exquisite mouth. _Jesus Christ, is she trying to kill him?_

“Turn around, I want you to sit on my face,” he demands.

A fresh rush of wetness pools in her core as she follows his instructions. She doesn’t trust herself to speak right now, just nestles her pussy right atop his mouth as she bends forwards to take him into hers again. It’s only been all of one minute since she tasted him, but already she misses the heavy weight of his cock against her tongue and the salty flavour of his pre-cum. She nuzzles her face into his cock, smearing the mix of her saliva and his wetness all over her cheeks, nose, mouth. She doesn’t know what has come over her, but she’s feeling filthy and loving it.

He wraps his arms around her hips to keep her in place as his tongue dives into her sweet cunt again, and she can’t help but vibrate her lusty, emphatic moans onto his cock. He slides his fingers into her again and fucks her enthusiastically whilst he rims her ass with his tongue, pushing against her tight bud. _What the fuck’s gotten into him that he’s behaving so obscenely with her?_ He needn’t worry though because she’s bucking into him repeatedly, panting and writhing, as indecently as he feels.

“Fuck me,” she gasps. “I want your cock inside me.”

“I don’t have protection, but I’m clean,” he groans against her pussy.

She twists out of his grasp and faces to straddle him in one swift move. She’s so keyed up she just wants him inside her _now_. “Me too...On the pill,” she barely succeeds in moaning out as she slides the lips of her drenched cunt along his length.

Before he can even answer her, she lifts herself up on her knees, takes him in her hands and sinks down on him in a move that has them both hissing in rapture. He barely has time to thrust up into her before she’s sliding up again, only to bury herself unfalteringly onto his cock, pushing down so firm and flush against him that he doesn’t know where he ends and where she begins. She starts undulating back and forth over him and it’s all he can do to keep up with her insatiable rhythm.

If this is all that he ever gets with her, he thinks he would die a happy man. It’s the most erotic sexual experience of his life - two perfect strangers acting out on their desires, engaging in an act so intimate without even knowing each other’s names. But he wants to know her name. And he certainly wants to do this again.

He grabs her hips and pushes her close onto him, flipping her over onto her back without slipping out of her tight core. He takes possession of her mouth in a sweet, tender kiss and slowly pushes into her as he bears his weight on an extended arm and unfolds her legs that are wrapped around him into a butterfly position on the floor. He wants to get in deep, and he wants to watch his cock drive into her as they fuck each other’s brains out.

She’s focused on the way he moves in and out of her, their breathing synced, heavy with moans and muffled cries of pleasure. Feeling him bare inside her has got her so close and she knows just by instinct and the way his scrotum tightens against the hand that she’s cupping his balls with that he is too.

He slows down his rhythm, wanting to prolong their ravishing of each other. She’s scratching her nails down his muscular back, the thing that started all of this, one hand clutching his ridiculously round ass, guiding him deeper and he’s kissing her again.

“Tell me what you want...fast or slow?” He asks as he fists her hair in his hands, making his preference clear. _How gentlemanly of him to ask at all._

“Fast...and hard,” she manages to grit out, because he’s already slamming into her the way she needs him to between her words. 

He builds up his tempo of thrusts in time with her murmurs and whimpers. She’s never been taken like this, and likely never will. She’s never even behaved like this before, but there’s a freedom in baring her primal self to a perfect stranger. He brings one of her thighs across his, leaving his hand there to grab her in support, slipping the other between his legs, effectively changing up positions to a side scissors and _oh fuck_ \- it’s deeper than it’s ever felt. 

He groans as his forehead falls on her breast, his mouth hungrily working her nipple and biting her soft, tender flesh, knowing that she’s adjusting to the sheer fullness of him in this position by the small shiver that surges across her body.

He takes a second to stop, sweat dripping down him in rivulets, his hair falling across his face like it was styled that way, instead of the result of a vigorous fuck session it actually is. She’s covered in a shiny sheen too, and he hears and feels how slippery she is as his legs, pelvis and abs slide and slap against her as he restarts his furious onslaught against her lust-soaked pussy.

This sound, coupled with her escalating cries and the way she looks right at him while he’s ramming into her is the thing that almost undoes him.

She’s thrusting and jerking her hips together with his - so powerful, so connected - until her voice breaks a little as she cries out that she’s coming with a chorus of yeses. It’s intense, fierce and hands down the most overpowering orgasm she’s ever had, thanks to him pushing her back and forth to edge of ecstasy. _How can someone she’s just met know her body so well?_

He’s thinking the same thoughts, as he rides out the aftershocks of her release, still hanging by a thread between her clenching, pulsing walls, thrusting tenderly into her making her come again, but gentler this time.

She’s boneless, but she somehow hooks her index finger onto his thin silver chain that lies irresistibly against the ruddy colour of his neck and pulls him close, whispering low into his ear, “I want you to come all over me.”

That sets him off, and he’s battering into her as if his life depended on it. All that sexual tension and nervous energy - from the moment he set eyes on her, raking over her lithe body, appreciating her flexibility and graceful strength, watching her watching him hungrily, to the first tentative touch, changing quickly to the euphoric high of entering her - all of it, comes down to this explosive finale.

He drives hard into her _once, twice_ before he feels himself cresting, and withdraws his cock quickly to move his body up in order to spill his spurting seed against her throbbing cunt, on to her beautifully defined midriff, over her pale breasts and pink nipples, and finally into her warm, waiting, open mouth.

She’s swallowing him whole, tasting them both, one hand pumping loosely in an effort to drain his cock into her mouth, while her other hand takes his, spreading his thick creamy come lazily all over her body. His entire body is shaking, overcome with post-coital bliss, as he lowers himself directly onto her sticky body and rubs up and down against her.

 _That was incredible_ , he thinks as she sighs and stretches in indolent pleasure.

They lie like that on the floor for a while, luxuriating in the deep breaths they take, the circular patterns they trace on each other’s skin and gentle kisses that they steal from one another, as he softens and then later grows hard again thinking of what just transpired. She’s still aroused and there’s nothing more she wants than another round (or more) with this beautiful stranger, but she knows that the last thing she needs are complications and distractions.

When they’re cleaned up, dressed and she’s tenderly kissing him goodbye at the door, he wants to ask if he can see her again but senses the tiniest shake of her head. He looks back after, wondering if he’ll ever meet her again but the door is shut and whatever fleeting or lasting moment of intimacy they had shared suddenly feels like a million miles away. 

“No regrets,” she whispers to herself on the other side of the door, “though the return be never.”

The next day she’s gone, settling back into her routine in Montreal, but Jordan was right - all her anxiety about her comeback disappears. She’s had the best finish to her two years of unofficial retirement and now she’s ready to take on the world.

It’s when she’s at her first strength and conditioning session the week after that she allows herself to recall every earth-shattering moment of her last off-ice training and the perfect stranger who had tipped her world upside down. She feels a deep flush spread through her body as she works through her exercise sets, trying very hard to concentrate. She has a feeling of being watched but that’s usual, her trainers take videos in order for her watch back to improve her form or highlight certain issues. 

“Tessa,” Her trainer Jennifer calls out after she’s finished her workout and cool down stretching. “I want to introduce you to the newest member of our team.”

She looks up, and there he is.

He’s smiling, bright as the sun, and just as irresistible as the day she met him. He lifts two fingers to her in a mock salute, and says, “Hey, the name’s Scott.”

And while life has just gotten infinitely more interesting and complicated, suddenly they’re not perfect strangers anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tessa quotes Langston Hughes at the end because she’s a poet and you know it.
> 
> Let me know what you loved either here or on Twitter @lapetitemort20 😘


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gym Moir is back! Also so much hands...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked, and I (hopefully) delivered. 
> 
> This is for the OLC and all of you who haven’t got smut fatigue just yet.

He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Or the feel of her off of his skin, for that matter. She had inhabited him in such a way that he could still feel her under his hands, his hips and his mouth like the phantom pain of a limb that’s been cut away from his body.

Nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating sucker punch he felt as he walked away from that apartment and a woman he barely even knew. But he did know her. Even if he didn’t know her name, or where she came from, he had known her inside out, in the most intimate way. And in those too brief moments, against the door, on the floor and after, lying tangled in each other’s arms, he knew her like he knew himself.

Completely. Utterly. Unequivocally.

He’d always been a romantic guy. But this. This wasn’t a roll in the hay, not that he’d ever had one before. Yet he certainly knew enough to know that this was what the French - however annoying - were talking about when they coined the term ‘ _coup de foudre_ ’. A thunderbolt. A flash of lightning.

And damn, there was no doubt about it, they had been electrifying. Like the positive and negative charges in the eye of an intemperate storm, there had been a deluge of push pull, a tempest of burning. So to have walked away without question from the sensation of being alive, of every single nerve in his body singing, of the absolutely exhilarating connection between them, he should have beaten himself up for being the dumbest person alive. That kind of feeling doesn’t _just_ happen.

Which is why when he comes face to face with her two weeks later in Montreal, it feels a little like luck, and a lot like kismet. There is _no_ such thing as coincidence in the universe.

When Jennifer had called him up earlier in the year to join the team as a strength and conditioning coach, he hadn’t been 100 per cent convinced about it. Moving from Ilderton to Toronto had already been far enough from his family, but to settle in Montreal? Granted, the seven hour drive isn’t a huge distance by any means, but he’d spent so much time apart from them growing up that any separation now felt significant.

But, it was an opportunity of a lifetime. This was what he had been working towards the past 10 years, to use his specialised sports science background and personal experience as an ex-athlete in order to make a difference to the people who really mattered. Having had a promising Olympic short track speed skating career prematurely cut short by injury, Scott had created a name for himself as a gifted and empathetic functional training specialist, who genuinely cared about exploring how the proper strength training could prevent injuries and build up an athlete’s performance under multi-planar, unpredictable and variable circumstances. Despite the power element of his sport, he found micro-movement and compound training to be much more intriguing and efficient. To that end, he’d developed an experimental exoskeleton weight training suit system in the last couple of years that was beginning to be used by professional athletes, and the lead up to the Olympics would be the perfect campaign to test and market it.

This he understood. This was his life’s work, his passion. And so he had accepted the offer before the summer, moving just the week before so he’d have plenty of time to wrap up any loose ends in Toronto.

Naturally, he had read up the profiles of the athletes he would be working with, only he never wanted to presume who they were merely based on performance videos or reputation. He preferred to meet with his clients, create a rapport, watch them train and then dig into their past capabilities and accomplishments together. Never in a million years did he imagine that the same beauty he had knocked skates with, so to speak, was the one and only Tessa Virtue, one-time Olympic gold medallist and two-time Olympic silver medallist, who was hoping to make a comeback by winning two more gold medals in PyeongChang to become the most decorated women’s singles skater in history, despite years of persistent compartment syndrome injury.

Of course she would be _that_ brilliant. Just watching her train that day, the way she moved and how she held her body, there was something inherently different and immeasurable about her. That spirit, almost as much as the irresistible physical attraction between them, was what drew him to her. Steel, motivation and grace. It blew his mind but didn’t surprise him that those qualities crossed over erotically.

Which brings him to the present moment.

He watches her closely as a flash of recognition glimmers across her face. It’s gone in an instant, a schooled picture perfect smile in its place, as she jumps up from her stretching position to greet him in hello and a handshake. He doesn’t expect that, considering the way they left each other trembling and wanting the last time. He doesn’t know _what_ he expects. This serendipitous reunion probably bowls her over as much as it does him. He hopes.

“Hi, I’m Tessa!...Virtue!” She adds on at the end, offering a little too loudly, too enthusiastically, as she takes his hand awkwardly. The electricity that zaps between them proves that he didn’t dream up their titillating episode back in Toronto. If he didn’t know better, he would say she’s nervous, though she’s trying to give very little away. He finds it adorable to be honest.

“Hello, Tessa Virtue,” his brown eyes crinkling upwards, a playful smile on his lips, and her name finally on his tongue. “Scott, Scott Moir.” He repeats, willing her to remember, as his hand stays grasped warmly around hers. He knows without a doubt that she remembers him, but wonders if she’s thought about him since that day.

“Scott joins us from Toronto as your strength coach. I think you’ll find he’s a very talented addition to your core team,” Jennifer inadvertently interrupts the connection.

Talented is an understatement, Tessa thinks, as she fidgets at the memory of his tongue inside her, his _very_ accomplished mouth bringing her to a NSFW frenzy. In all actuality, she doesn’t know how she’s still standing upright and not melting into a puddle on the floor, considering how their first meeting went. She shakes herself mentally, _get it together for fuck’s sake_.

“Wonderful, I’m really looking forward to it.” She finds herself genuinely meaning it, even though she has no idea how she’s going to navigate past their indiscretion and the butterflies she feels in the pit of her stomach whilst in his company. Trust her to find a way to make her yeses come back to bite her in the ass. _Why, oh why_ , did she allow Jordan to plant the idea that a one night (day) stand was a good idea?

“Me too,” he replies easily, his eyes drinking her up after what seems like a drought, not believing he gets to see her again. They’re still standing there with their hands touching, both unable to let go.

“So you’ll probably be wanting to schedule some time together to discuss the programme that Scott has drawn up for you, maybe figure out what you’re working with, but we can do that after the team meeting tomorrow,” Jennifer continues, completely oblivious to the eye-fucking taking place right in front of her.

“Sure, sounds good,” she nods to Jennifer, then back to Scott. Time together? Her brain is short-circuiting at the thought of more ‘time together’.

“Errr, I’m going to need my hand back though,” he teases, but in truth he would do anything to keep her hand is his.

 _Oh crap_ , she’s still holding on to the handshake even though they’ve been standing there for a full five minutes. How on earth had she been a salacious minx when they’d had no holds barred sex not even two weeks ago, but transformed into a complete and utter idiot at this very moment? Riding the cock of a perfect stranger had been liberating and she had done so without inhibition, even initiated it, but meeting him again and having to work together in _very_ close quarters for the next two years was a different kettle of fish altogether.

“At some point.” He goes on, raising his eyebrows. “No rush though.” There’s that smile again. She just wants to wipe it off his face by kissing him senseless.

Wait, what? And why the _fuck_ hasn’t she let go yet? At this realisation, she snatches her right hand out of his, immediately feeling bereft of his warm touch, but flaming with embarrassment in her cheeks.

He’s chuckling throatily, but he actually grabs her hand back, with both of his own. Tessa looks around warily to see that Jennifer has already wandered off to jump onto the next unsuspecting athlete under her training, and no one’s really paying attention to either of them. Although if they did, they might see sparks flying and fireworks about to go off.

He’s already reaching for her other hand, and she looks down in surprise at how softly he’s clasping hers, as he strokes his thumbs lightly across her knuckles. Again that sharp jolt of energy.

His are strong hands, she thinks, no, _she knows,_ recalling how they had gripped her fiercely and left possessive marks all over her body the day after. They were beautiful even in their ruggedness, with thick, lusty fingers and slender veins criss-crossing the back of his palms, running up his powerful forearms. And while there was an undeniable virility to them, there was also a certain poetry to his movements, an awareness, a purpose. An involuntary shiver runs through her body remembering those hands on her in a different capacity, those eager fingers filling her up and urgently working her into paroxysms of pleasure. 

She _is_ thinking about him now, he gloats inwardly, and it’s all he needs in order to pull her quickly into a corner, hidden from view.

She hisses. “What are you doing?”

He has her backed up against the wall, effectively caging her in between his outstretched arms, causing her breath to catch and her heart rate to speed up just a little. It reminds her not too dissimilarly of their door situation. She has a sneaky suspicion that he’s recalling the exact same scene.

He doesn’t answer, just waits a beat as his eyes take in her dilated green eyes, the fevered flush in her cheeks, and those luscious, yet libertine lips that he can still remember sliding all along his thoroughly rigid erection.

“Did you know who I was when we met?” She demands, an edge to her voice.

“Not until today. I swear it,” he answers truthfully, his brown eyes genuine.

“I think...we should forget what happened ever happened and stick to business.” Her throat is dry, and she knows that she sounds positively unconvinced by the suggestion even to her own ears. How does she forget _that_?

He pauses as if to think, then tips his face so close to hers, before changing tack at the last minute and aims for ghosting his lips against her ear. “Agreed,” he whispers hotly, then pushes his muscular arms off from the wall in a burst of power and walks away without so much as a backward glance. “See you tomorrow, Tessa.”

And fuck if that’s not the sexiest thing she’s ever heard.

***

Scott does _not_ in fact agree in the tiny least bit, but he’s nothing if not professional - although the hard on in his boxers suggests otherwise. _What’s the game plan here, Moir?_ he asks himself. He’d always been surrounded by bodies at their physical peak in his line of work, that is just something that comes with the territory. Of course, there have been attractions here and there but he has never crossed the line or been inappropriate despite the few that have tried. He’d been flattered obviously, but he was more a monogamous type of guy, and it had been a couple of years since his last girlfriend, with a few short term dalliances that fizzled out fast since then.

Tessa is different. There’s something about her that makes him want to be decidedly _un_ professional, except he really doesn’t want to blow his chances at this career progression, and besides, she’s got a whole comeback on her plate. Yet, while they’ve maybe only said less than 50 words to each other since they first met, god knows if he doesn’t want to spend hours finding out what makes her tick, what makes her laugh, what makes her cry…and what makes her moan in pleasure.

He’s had but a small taste, and fuck it all to hell if she didn’t taste like sin that he was willing to commit again. All he can think of is getting more of his fill. He might have already exhausted the memory bank of what he knows, having run it through his mind so many times, making a catalogue of the sounds she made and how she moved when he touched her in certain ways. He still hasn’t figured out how he’s going to manage working so closely with her over the next two years without crossing any boundaries or coming off as a lecherous pervert.

He’s had a long day at the training centre - hell, it’s been a pretty intense week if he’s honest. The move, sorting out his new digs, getting up to scratch with the team. He’s excited as fuck just working with the calibre of experts on the team, as well as such dedicated Olympic-level athletes. It reminds him of the single-minded focus and razor sharp concentration he used to commit to his own sport. He misses the competitive side of it, but he knows he can always lace up a pair of skates and stroke fast and powerfully on his own when he needs some quiet time.

The chill of the rink, the carve of the blades, the speed on the straights and the way his body hugs the ice and his inside hand slides across the surface as he rounds a corner helps him keep his focus on a knife’s edge, and in a strange way, center himself. He’ll just have to find out where he can go. And _soon_ , before he drives himself insane with distraction and want.

But right now, as he jumps into his brand new shower in his still partly unfurnished apartment, he allows himself a moment of indulgence. He turns on the rain shower strong, and lets it run until it’s steaming hot. He seriously needs to unwind - the muscles in his shoulders and traps are tight and knotted, and he’s running on pure adrenaline. Seeing her today was like a shock to his system and it hasn’t abated. Now that he actually has time to himself, the thought of her sends his blood rushing - the thud of his mounting pulse drumming in his ears, making his heart clench tight and his cock twitch with desire. He’s painfully hard and he needs relief.

With one hand against the shower wall and the hot jets of water cascading forcefully down the V of his athletic back to the curvature of his muscled ass, Scott takes a hold of his fully erect cock and thumbs slowly over the shiny, swollen head to spread the pre-cum around. He shuts his eyes, leans his forehead against the wall and winces in sensitivity. _She did this_. She’s made him so hard it physically hurts.

He slides his hand up and down his length in a rhythmic motion, making a tight fist around the head of his cock, wishing it was her he was pumping into. He thinks of how she felt before, how tight she was, how wet, how desperate for his cock, and his breathing and pumping speeds up. It’s embarrassing how little it takes for him to want to come but he’s pinching the tip of his shaft to regulate his body’s physical demand, then working his balls instead, tugging them sharply so he doesn’t give in to the release, not just yet. He slows his hand and takes a deep breath only to start again. He’s wet and _so damned stiff_ , it’s all he can do not to cry out in frustration at the imaginary body he wishes was sliding against him, equally wet and wanting. He repeats these motions again and again, visualising her in all her naked glory, soft yet determined, pliant yet forceful. Was it wrong to crave her so? The Tessa he had met today seemed uncertain compared to the Tessa who had fucked him six ways to Sunday, without a moment’s hesitation. It just makes him want her even _more_ , if that is possible. It makes him thirst to explore every facet of her.It makes him yearn to prove to her that whatever it is between them, that it is worth pursuing, worth the waiting, worth everything.

Maybe it’s the lust-induced haze, or the way he bucks lewdly against his hand, the quick wet sounds of his fisted palm manipulating the swell of his cock, tracing against the veins that map his length, imagining over and over that they are her hands, her lips, her tongue, but when he finally allows himself to ejaculate, it’s with her name rolling in his mouth, his head bent forward in a type of prayer, and his traitorous body panting and spurting an arc of warm, white come that doesn’t seem to want to stop.

He crumples his body against the shower wall temporarily sated, but not entirely satisfied. He shakes his head in disbelief, all _this_ just after a ten-minute conversation with her.

Well, that’s Day 1 done. Just another 729 to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do them justice? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does Tessa deal? It’s a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! After two weeks of emotional rollercoasters and two heartbreaking one shots, I am able to get this out. 
> 
> This is for The OLC and MAC FSPF, who inspired quite a bit of the dialogue. Thank you for making this world (well, Twitter anyway) a better place. Also shout out to whoever I got the idea of the v thing from because I’m old and I can’t remember! Props to the original reviewer too. It was just pure gold.

This is getting ridiculous. Like sound-the-alarm levels of ridiculous. She’s literally just broken her rabbit vibrator from overuse, and there’s nothing more frustrating than riding the edge of your fourth consecutive orgasm and your vibrator stops working.

Actually there _is_ something more frustrating. The fact that she’s _not_ having sex. In particular, the fact that she’s not having sex with the man she really, really, really wants.

With her mood dampened and exasperation rising, she throws said vibrator across the room with a sharp curse and grabs her phone to order a new one over Amazon. There are some pretty good reviews out there, but there’s [one](https://www.amazon.com/Vibrators-Waterproof-Rechargeable-Stimulator-Vibration/dp/B07GZL12ZG/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_pdt_img_sims?ie=UTF8&th=1) that has considerable enthusiastic, if not the most hilarious, reviews ever - with reference to the clit-sucking gadget being able to induce orgasms so powerful you’ll liken your climax to the way goats keel over when they faint. Oh well, it might be just a tad hyperbolic but worth a try.

Fuck knows she needs a good orgasm. Several, in fact. Although the reviews say delivery is quick, she’s not sure if she can wait more than a couple of days, she’s that _horny_ , and she presses ‘Add to Cart’. She’s not sure how good an idea it is though - if the glowing reviews are to be trusted, she won’t be able to walk straight, let alone skate.

And while she knows that no man has that kind of battery power, there are pieces of the puzzle that simply cannot be filled by a vibrating silicone appendage, no matter how amazing it may be.

Skin on skin. Bodies writhing. The weight of a man. Hard masculine edges contrasting with soft feminine curves. The heat rolling over flesh. The moaning, groaning, grabbing, sighing, grunting, crying. The advance and retreat. The give and the take. The sweat. The scent. The raw power and pleasure of not holding back, being vulnerable, stripped bare and presenting yourself as you truly are, before a higher power. It’s a religious experience really.

Ever since her anonymous tryst with a perfect stranger turned out to be a connection too close for comfort, she hasn’t been able to make herself come quite like he had made her. Nothing she does - not in the shower, lying in her bed, plunging her vibrator deep, can replicate how she fell apart the way she did with him.

She’d always enjoyed sex, although she hasn’t had a wealth of experience. Her first time was at 16 with her childhood sweetheart whom she’d known since she was seven and he was nine. He had been her first love, but her skating career took her away so much that they eventually broke up two years and a devastating heartbreak later. Between then and now there had been sporadic and nice enough, but forgettable relationships. Everything she knows about pleasure was from that first boyfriend, experiments of masturbation with her fingers, and later on, a trusty vibrator, one instance of girl-on-girl action in a bid to expand her sexual identity (she loves cock though, so that was that), and the groundbreaking website OMGYes. Besides, there’s not a lot of time for relationships or sex when you’re a national champion and Olympic gold and silver medallist.

But then came Scott. Scott with his dark potent eyes. Scott with his beautiful hands. Scott with his muscled back. Scott with his perfectly round ass. Scott with his gifted mouth. Scott with his _fucking gorgeous cock_. Scott who knows exactly what he’s doing and has no business being decidedly unforgettable.

Scott. Scott. Scott.

She can’t help but moan his name as she replays every scene she can remember with him in it, as she thrusts her fingers back inside her, furiously willing herself to climax and succeeding, but the high is fleeting. Fuck this shit, she’s so _desperate_. That vibrator had better arrive soon, or else she is going to maul Scott and regret it.

Or perhaps not. She doesn’t know which is worse.

The days after their surprise reunion were spent trying to evade him, but that was nigh impossible to do. She’s not sure she even wants to, but she hasn’t figured out how to deal with this situation yet. First up was the meeting where her tailored off- and on-ice team grouped to discuss her two-year comeback strategy. It was a great meeting, so motivating and filled with impassioned energy. She has no doubt that by committing to this process, there will be no stone left unturned and victory will be undeniable. She also has no doubt, that despite his emphatic agreement to ignore what happened between them, that there was no forgetting, if his intense gaze was any guide.

As if that encounter wasn’t already tough enough, she had to schedule individual sessions with each and every team member over the next few days - dance, choreography, on-ice practice, technical and video sessions, pilates, physio, rehab, mental training, and of course, strength and conditioning. Her meeting with him was scheduled last, which would be their first sit down and also workout session together. She didn’t know _what_ to expect.

Other than her on-ice sessions, all the other trainings were centralised, so she was bound to bump into him. This ignoring thing was tougher than she thought. The funny thing was when she _did_ catch glimpses of him along corridors, in the gym, or passing by his office (which may or may not have been on purpose), he had been nothing but professional, throwing her an easy smile or that cocky little salute (which, face it, drives her wild) and nothing more. It was frustrating to say the least.

Yet despite their transient encounters, she did however develop an uncanny ability to feel a specific heat rise along the back of her neck and a tiny shiver up the sides of her arms whenever he walked into the same room as her. She had never had such a visceral and physical reaction to anyone in her entire life before. It was unnerving.

The day of their scheduled session comes around, and she’d be lying if she hasn’t spent all week thinking about seeing him again, despite her complete and utter focus to her task. She had just announced her comeback over the weekend on CBC’s Road to the Olympics program, done plenty of interviews, and she’s already hard at work wrapping up both choreographies for her short dance and her free in time for her test skates. She loves this creative and technical process. And this time, she’s absolutely insistent on skating to programmes that moves her. Part of her mistake in the preparation for Sochi was not trusting herself. This time, it would be for her and for the love of the sport.

She knocks on the door of his office softly, as she peeks her head around. He wasn’t there. Did he forget their appointment? She feels a little wave of disappointment crest over her. She had picked out her workout outfit with considerable care just for today, as much as she hated to admit it. While she was all about feminism and doing things for her own bad self, there’s a part of her that really wants him to find her irresistible.

“I hope you didn’t think I forgot about you,” his voice calls out from behind her.

How many layers were there to that simple statement? Was he referring to their appointment? Or the thing they were supposed to _not_ remember? She spins around, her mouth pulling up into a smile she can’t quite suppress. “No, of course not!” She spies two takeaway coffee cups in his hands. So that’s where he went.

He looks down and gestures, “I hope you don’t mind, I haven’t had one all day. I took the liberty of ordering one for you. Almond milk latte okay?”

“Perfect.” Like him. _Christ, when the hell did she get so sappy?_ But he is. Studying him now, she notices little details that she hadn’t managed to capture while she was busy fucking his brains out. Like how his long eyelashes frames his downturned eyes. They should look sad, but there’s a mischievous glint in them, as if he’s got a good joke at the ready to burst out of him.

“Great, let’s get started then.” His eyes sweep appreciatively, but discreetly, over her blush pink and black Stella McCartney for Adidas getup. She doesn’t miss it though. In fact, it makes her cheeks colour a little. How on earth is it possible for him to make her feel like a teenager in the first flush of romance? They’ve somehow skipped the entire courtship part, gone past GO, and collected the $200 a couple of times. And they’re now, what? In a holding cell, waiting?

“Coming?” She’s so into her thoughts that she misses the fact he’s completely bypassing his office door and is headed for the exit.

 _God, yes, I hope so_ , she thinks obscenely. “Wait, where are we going?”

“Where else?” He turns around to give her a wink. “The rink.”

Although the drive to the rink is a short one, the tension in his car is flagrant. It’s the first time they’ve been together, alone, since Toronto, what more in an enclosed space, and her anxiety is reaching peak levels. Is the air in his car hot and stuffy, or is it just her? She pays entirely too much attention to the lid of her coffee cup and sips away nervously, not sure what to say.

He must be feeling the same way too, but luckily he saves the situation from becoming god awful. “I hate Taylor Swift so much it hurts. I love baking and watching the Great British Bake Off. And I always use fake names at restaurants.” He deadpans.

Two truths and a lie. She breathes a sigh of relief. Okay, she’ll play. She thinks about his statements for a minute and then almost yells, “You do _not_ bake!”

He’s laughing, “What?! I’ll have you know these hands can whip up some pretty spectacular things.”

Oh. _His hands_. She’s sure he didn’t even mean to make that innuendo, but yes, they certainly did something spectacular to her. And so they’re right back where they started. She clears her throat anxiously. “Umm, okay like what? And honestly, which one’s the lie?”

“I can make a mean no-bake cheesecake. And just so you know, I have a massive crush on Mary from GBBO.” He pouts.

Now it’s her turn to laugh, then she swivels towards him with wide eyes, a look of mock horror, and an accusing finger pointed at his imperial nose. “You’re a Swiftie.”

“Aha, you’ve got me there!” He doesn’t even try to hide his smile. Fuck TSwift. This T’s eyes are gorgeous. He knew that already, but the way she stared him down a moment ago almost made his heart stop.

“Seriously, _this_ is what you’re admitting to?” She guffaws. “Of all the truths you could tell me?”

“Does it make you think any less of me?” He fields her question with a question.

Does it make her think any less of him? Or make her think of him less? She’s about to answer neither, except that wasn’t his question. In fact, she can’t _stop_ thinking about him, even when he’s sitting right next to her, Taylor Swift notwithstanding. How does every interaction come back to this?

“No,” she replies quietly, fidgeting with her coffee cup again.

He glances over at her. She was totally disarmed with her easy laughter, and yet something keeps reeling her back in. “Your turn.”

She hmmms for a little while while she thinks. “My favourite thing to eat is sea salt chocolate. One time I poured jello in my competitor’s skates. And I write fan fiction.”

He snorts at the jello reference, knowing that yoghurt would have been the far better practical joke as it leaves a sour stink. “You wouldn’t have poured jello in anyone’s skates. You’re way too nice.”

“You mean you think I write fanfic???” She nearly yells again and smacks him lightly on his arm.

They’re both laughing now.

“Hey, you do you. I think there’s a wealth of imagination under that cool exterior,” he points out, privately thinking of the filthy things she did to him.

The sexual tension is back again with a vengeance. _Sweet Jesus_ , this was getting out of hand.

“I may have _read_ some, but I certainly do _not_ write it,” she huffs. Then continues, “I’m also not as nice and good as everyone thinks I am.”

Oh he _knows_ , if her sexual performance was any indication, but answers matter-of-factly instead, “No champion is.”

They fall silent for a bit but the tension still lingers. By this time though he’s already parking at the rink and jumping out the car, grabbing a large bag of equipment from the trunk. She’s got her skates in her locker, so she’s already heading for the entrance. “I’m just going to grab my skates, meet you on the ice!”

When she gets down to the ice, he’s already got skates on and is stroking fluidly around the rink. For some reason this surprises her, in a good way. Of course, most Canadians skate, it’s in their life blood, but it didn’t even occur to her that he did. She thought he would just be watching her from the side. Instead, she’s the one who ends up watching him. And _fuck_ , if he isn’t athletic, powerful and elegant. There’s a magnetism to him that she just can’t deny.

“Hey,” she finally joins him out on the ice. “I didn’t know you skate.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he offers.

“So tell me,” she shrugs, as they stroke in unison side by side. He’s really good, she can tell.

“You want to know about me?” 

“Yes, I want to know about you,” she replies, almost self-consciously.

He slides to a stop. “I used to speed skate. Cut my Olympic dreams short when I broke my ankle and crushed my toes.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She looks down at her feet.

“It’s okay, I’m over it. These days I help other athletes achieve their dreams.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Is that _your_ dream?” She looks up at him curiously. It feels strange to have this conversation, but they’ve not exactly respected any socially acceptable timelines in any case.

No one’s ever asked him that since he had to quit his sport prematurely. It’s telling of how perceptive and sensitive she is, and he feels the urge to know more. He takes the plunge, _fuck being professional_. “I’ll tell you what my dream is. But if you want to hear it you’ll have to eat dinner with me, just so I can use one of my many fake names.”

He’s smooth, she’ll give him that, but it doesn’t actually feel like a line. She’s even wondering if this, whatever it is between them, could actually work, despite her earlier misgivings. “Oh, it’s that way is it?” She flirts lightly back.

“Uhuh,” he holds her gaze for a beat too long, suddenly looking like he wants to devour her.

“I’ll think about it,” she replies coquettishly, the colour in her face rising, as she turns the other way and speeds through a dazzling sequence of mohawk and twizzle footwork.

Once she settles down from the butterflies in her stomach, they begin the session in earnest. It is nothing like she had imagined. She was used to working out at the gym, running through a bunch of exercises that worked on her core strength, stability, balance, body mechanics, as well as cardio. They will still have those sessions, Scott explains, but this is where she is going to have an edge. He unveils his exoskeleton suit, which is essentially a series of compression pieces which can take on weight loads for user defined movement training and light variable resistance training. It’s revolutionary and a fucking smart idea. What it means is that she’ll be able to train to her programmes while loading her body with less than 10% of her body weight, in order to enhance speed, power, agility, endurance and skill.

She does several run throughs of her sections from her short and free dances and she’s amazed by the actual exertion the weight puts on her despite the fact that they’re only using progressive loads in grams. By the end of the session, when she strips off the pieces and repeats the exact same drills, she finds that her body feels light and free. Her jump combinations have never felt higher or more powerful.

When they drive back to the training centre, she’s feeling more invigorated than she’s felt in months. She can’t wait to watch the videos that Scott has taken so that they can go through movement and mechanics analysis, but that’ll have to wait till their next session. But more than all of that, she feels truly impressed by the talented, whip smart and humorous man by her side. If she thought she was attracted to him before, she is totally hook, line, and sinker a goner for him now, because nothing captivates and arouses her more than brains and competence.

So when she returns home later that evening after meetings with several sponsors along with her PR agency and running a bunch of errands, finding a package delivered to her door, she knows she’s going to have the perfect end to her day. And she does, because _god dammit_ those reviews were fucking right on the money.

After a quick shower, she quickly unboxes the package and takes out the vibrator from its bright purple satin bag. It doesn’t look like a dick _thank god_ , and after a quick wash, half an hour of charging and a test run of all the clitoral sucking and vibration functions, she slides down into bed to try it out. There’s a vanilla soy candle that she’s lit up on her bedside table and she’s set her Spotify sex playlist on to the strains of D’Angelo’s ‘How Does It Feel’ - so sue her, she’s cultured and wants to set the mood, she’s not a wild animal for fuck’s sake.

She’s already wet anyway just thinking of Scott, replaying their interactions today, how lightly his hands grazed her when he was strapping the exoskeleton suit onto her and loading the teardrop weights along her body. Should she have felt that turned on when he was adding layers to her instead of stripping her down? It didn’t matter what he did, the focus he placed on her was just so delicious, she preened under his touch and attention. She wanted him to see how good she was, she wanted to skate better just for him.

The reviews said to start on a slow setting so she does. She slides the vibrator into her wet, aching cunt and flicks the button onto setting 1, then slowly to 2. She bites her lip in order to control the ragged breaths she’s already drawing, she hasn’t had a vibrator-fueled orgasm for a week already and she needs her fix. She positions the clit sucking suction over her engorged hood and sets the button to 1, and _fuck_ that already feels so good. She thinks back to when he first kissed her there and slides up the setting to 2. The memory of his tongue, together with the physical suction of this vibrator is making her heady and breathless. She leaves both the vibration and clit stimulation at this level because she wants to take her time, thinking of Scott’s hands, tongue, his body weight, and perfect cock on, and in her.

She’s moaning softly now, rubbing her free hand all over her body, wishing it were his hands that were pinching her nipples, sliding down to tug her belly ring, scratching along the grooves of her abs, and dipping further down south to feel the sloppy evidence of her arousal. Would he want to watch her play with herself like this? Would it turn him on to see her pleasure herself, knowing she was thinking of his hands, his body, his cock? She turns up both levels to 3 now and she knows she’s not going to last long. The rumbling, vibrating, sucking motions are building up and intensifying, and she’s already shaking with want, verging on the edge of losing control.

She imagines his hands in her hair, his body bucking gently yet brutally against her, his voice whispering her name, and she’s fucking gone astray. When the waves of pleasure come crashing over her, it’s a powerful slow build and prolonged orgasm, the best she’s ever had, on par, but different, to the ones Scott coaxed from her body. She can’t believe it but she’s actually squirting, and she has _never_ done that before in her life.

She seems to be doing quite a few new things ever since this dark-haired man walked into her life. She’s still trembling when she goes again for rounds two and three, and this time she comes fast, hard, and with a shout and stars in her eyes.

Maybe she takes it back. Maybe there are some things a man just can’t do. But maybe, just maybe, after the time she spent with him today, she’s not willing to take that chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do. Yell at me @lapetitemort20 and show me some sweet sweet loving below!
> 
> For those who want a piece of the action, please order on Amazon at the link included within the fic. 
> 
> You're welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will they? Won't they? Lots happening and maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my lovelies @ExcuseMeMsTessa and @RookandPawn1 for editing and slashing! As usual, this is for the OLC x

In the months that he’s been working together with Tessa, Scott has never seen her flag or waver once. She’s a perfectionist, right down to the deep angle of her edges, the soft landings of her knees absorbing the energy into the glide of the blades, the flick of her fingers, the whip of her hair, the softness of her expressions. In a sport where perfection is a problematic construct, she’s making it her bitch. Even this early in the season, with untested new programmes, he’s never seen anyone skate quite like her, she’s _that_ exquisite. 

They’ve been working hard, hitting their conditioning sessions rigorously but also her on-ice training where she’s been taking advantage of using the exoskeleton weights. She _knows_ , is absolutely sure, that it’s helping her with the technical elements in her programmes. She’s never felt stronger or more fit. In the months since she first started using it, her jumps have achieved so much more air, and even though she’d always been pretty quick in her spins and footwork sequences, her speed and attack is now unparalleled. 

Her training is providing great data for his product, but that’s secondary to what he is witnessing. It’s almost like watching history in the making, and he feels honoured to even be part of her journey.

Walking this path with her feels special. _She_ is special. 

If he thought working with her daily would be difficult, he was right. His ardour for her hasn’t dampened at all. In fact, being able to watch her unyielding dedication and stellar work ethic is a bigger aphrodisiac to him. It also doesn’t help that she parades her never-ending trousseau of Adidas workout gear day in and day out. _Jesus_ , this woman must have a huge walk-in wardrobe. And damn, every time he thinks his eyes can’t pop out any further, she proves him wrong by looking even better than she does in her last ensemble.

But it’s also easier somehow. In between both their busy schedules they turn their awkward car rides into snappy get-to-know you sessions set by the two truths and one lie game from that first car ride. 

He learns that she’s a bad liar, but he also learns that she has a wicked sense of humour, if somewhat let down by her lame joke delivery. 

He learns that her confidence comes from a certainty of self, knowing and liking who she is. Part of that has to do with her age in a sport dominated by gangly teenagers, part of it thanks to the maturity and perspective she’s gained after her two-year break. He can’t see that it would have been an easy road to self acceptance; after all, she lived out her teenage years competing amongst a mean girls culture, eating disorders, unreasonable standards of perfection as well as an external and false sense of validation. It’s a wonder she’s even half normal. 

He learns that she has three different laughs - a high tinkling chime that she can’t resist giving every time he makes a joke, a deep belly laugh that bursts from within her body complete with snorts as an expression of glee or irreverence, and a full on meltdown of giggles that usually strike during their ridiculous car confessionals, which leave her breathless and shaking after. 

He learns that he wants to be responsible for all three. 

He also learns that he spends way too much time thinking of her breathless and shaking in other ways. Ways that get him extremely hard and finish with highly unsatisfactory endings. 

He thinks she might feel the same way, the way her limpid eyes find his whenever she’s on the ice, when she’s expressing her emotions to her programmes, as if she were performing only for him. The way the flash of her green irises smoulder with a fire that’s gone unquenched for far too long, and the sway of her hips move against an imaginary body he wishes were his. 

But it’s also in the quiet, unaffected way her fingers find their way around his as they stroke quietly next to each other on the ice for her warm-ups. He tries to think back to the first time it happened - did they just fall into it without noticing? He thinks he would have paid more attention to that, seeing how strongly he reacts physically to her. Sometimes they gravitate into a dance hold, their synchronicity matched in a way one would think they could be the greatest ice dancers of all time, in a different life. It makes him wonder what they could be in this one. 

“Yes,” she says, pulling him out of his reverie, as she flops onto the floor and splays out feeling beat, her arms covering her face. They’ve just finished a session at the gym after two hours of sheer torture. She doesn’t know why she says it, or maybe she does, but now it’s too late to take it back, and maybe she _doesn’t_ want to.

“Yes in a victorious sense because you killed it this session, or yes because you agree that I’m devastatingly handsome?” She hears a simper in there somewhere. 

“Yes, as in affirmative,” she states the obvious. Her muscles are burning from the series of exercises that he’s made her run through, on top of all the cardio drills earlier. She’s still out of breath and can barely think.

He waits. That’s the thing with him, he’s been waiting for her to say something, anything, ever since their first session on the ice, about that time he asked her out to dinner. She hasn’t. He watches patiently as her collapsed body rises and falls whilst she slowly regulates her breathing back to normal. They’ve been here before. Except she’s not nearly as naked as he remembers. 

She blinks one eye open from behind her arm. He’s leaning sideways against one of the steel plyometric boxes with his legs crossed and a thoughtful look upon his face. _Goddammit, why does he have to look so good_? She’s sweating like a heathen and he looks as cool as a cucumber. Not to mention the eyeful she’s getting of the profile of his delectable ass. She just wants to sink her teeth into it, and then some. 

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” She arches an eyebrow at him.

“Say what?” He lifts both hands in an expression of cluelessness, then crosses his sinewy arms in anticipation. He hopes it is what he thinks it is.

“Say what context I’m saying yes in,” she huffs. _Why in god’s name are they making it so complicated_? It could be so easy if they could just spit it out and do what they both obviously wanted to do, like that first time. It’s not that she likes playing games - there are just so many lines she knows she would be crossing, and part of her is thrilled by it, but the other just doesn’t want to mess things up. Blame the perfectionist in her.

“Affirmative.” There’s that smug look again.

She mock sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”

He chuckles softly. “Wow, should I be flattered? You’d think that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

She tries to kick out at him but he’s just out of reach. She actually _likes_ this dynamic between them. In the months that she’s gotten to know him, their connection has deepened beyond just the physical pull between them. She’s much more relaxed around him, mostly because she’s stopped fighting against the attraction she feels. It’s also because he’s really easy to be around, especially when he’s as open and as vulnerable with her as their first time on the ice, showing her a side that’s almost at odds to his usual cocky demeanour. It feels like they could be friends, that they _are_ friends. 

Friends, with the exception of the tiny detail that they banged each other to kingdom come a few months back. 

She knows that technically he’s her ‘coach’ but it really feels like they’re more equals in this. He’s a specialist who’s been brought on board to bring out the best in her performances, and she’s the athlete who’s helping him gather data in order to develop his product. It’s win-win really. 

_So why does it still feel so illicit_?

“Just so you know, I do feel flattered.” He’s looking at her like he’s searching for something. There’s a gritty quality in his voice that makes her insides feel like molten lava, bubbling just beneath the damp sweaty sheen of her warm skin. 

And there it is. _Desire_. 

Time to nip this in the bud before it goes too far. She knows what will happen if she doesn’t reel it in, so she gets up to head for the showers. “Yeah, yeah. Just so you know, this isn’t a date. I’m just curious, is all,” she says airily to cut the sexual tension. Then, in a moment of irresistible wickedness, she towel whips his butt and walks away with her hips swaying exaggeratedly.

She hears his sharp intake of breath before he bursts out in peals of laughter as he calls out after her, “Curiosity _did_ kill the cat, you know!” 

And Lord, she can’t help but think of that statement sexually because fuck knows he’s positively murdered her pussy for anyone else.

***

They’d exchanged numbers so he could text her details of their so-called non-date. He offers to pick her up at her apartment but she’s adamant that she meet him at the restaurant. Doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea and all, so she keeps telling herself, but it might be a little too late for that. Especially since the idea isn’t wrong at all. 

He’s chosen a funky new restaurant-bar that has just opened in gentrified Griffintown to keep the mood light. Anything too romantic and she might change her mind, he thinks.

There’s a crispness in the air in the evenings now, so he’s dressed in slim cut chinos, a smart white tee (with a French tuck and rolled sleeves, no less), black leather bomber (thanks Queer Eye) and basic white trainers, and thinks he’s looking casual, but pretty sharp, if he does say so himself.

He doesn’t have to wait long for her to show up and when he sees her, he feels like he’s been hit by a train. In a good way, that is. 

He’s got to hand it to her. She’s put her long waves up into a casual bun, with simple drop earrings that accentuate her widow’s peak and pale neck. Her eyes are sparkling, the same shade as the emerald Bardot neckline satin top that showcases her delicate collarbones. Her outfit is finished with skin tight indigo jeans and strappy heels, and she looks phenomenal. He has to wonder at the efforts she’d go to on a _real_ date. 

He greets her with a large smile and a bounce in his step, but isn’t sure if he should kiss her cheeks the way the French Canadians do. He knows it’s a little old-fashioned but he settles for grazing his lips against the back of her hand, a gesture from a courtly past, or perhaps something ice dance partners might do. 

“You look amazing,” he compliments. “That colour makes your eyes go kapow!”

She blushes. “Thank you. You scrub up well too.” She’s gone for the effortless look, but also wants to impress him. He hasn’t seen her in anything but workout clothes. That, and her birthday suit, of course. 

“Still think this isn’t a date?” He grins playfully. 

“Oh hush,” she retorts. “You wish.” But it’s starting to feel a lot like one. 

“Shall we?” He gestures to the already buzzing courtyard. 

She nods, and he steers her gently with one hand splayed lightly at the small of her back. The warmth of his hand burns through her top, as he rubs his thumb involuntarily against her skin. 

“Table for two under the name Xavier Onassis,” he enunciates to the restaurant hostess with a flourish. 

Tessa snorts. Save your own asses? _That_ was one of his fake names? “You think you’re hilarious,” she whispers in his ear, as she elbows him savagely. 

He tries to ignore the way her breath tickles his ear, but his body responds immediately to the fact that her lips are just inches away from his mouth. All he has to do is turn his head slightly and he could catch her right where he wants her. 

Instead he flashes her his most winning smile. “You know it.” She laughs her second laugh.

Once they’re seated, they order some fun cocktails along with an array of Asian-style tapas. She decides to live a little. One drink won’t hurt her Olympic chances, will it? They swap drinks for each other to taste and share bites of their food. Nope, definitely _not_ a coupley thing to do at all.

Their conversation and laughter flow easily, pausing now and then to soak up the lively atmosphere. It feels good to be out amongst normal people, she tells him. So much of her life has been dominated by the sport, her training, competition, gala dinners, sponsor events, one media interview after another, and the like. While she did do ‘ordinary’ things on her two year break, going on a (non) date was not one of them. She’s not sure if she remembers what to do, or if she ever knew to begin with. 

She doesn’t know what changes but suddenly there’s a clumsy pause between them.

“So,” he starts. 

“So,” she echoes. 

“This is nice,” he comments. The electric charge that has been humming between them all evening now seems to pulsate.

“It is,” she fiddles nervously. She gets the feeling that something’s about to go down.

“Why did you agree to have dinner with me?” He rushes out, can’t help himself.

She pauses, deliberating her answer, and goes with, “I told you, I’m curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“Your story.” She doesn’t add that she’s Googled the shit out of him, but you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet these days.

“I could say the same.”

“But you probably know all there is to know about me by now,” she says in a self-deprecating way.

“Not everything,” he looks up from his drink, and she almost falters under the intensity of his gaze.

“As I recall, you promised your dreams for a date.”

“Oh, so it’s a date now, is it?” There’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Dreams, Moir.” She throws him a pointed look.

He lets her have this one. “It wasn’t always my dream to be doing this, but I kept thinking if I had had someone to help me out in my competitive days, maybe it would have made the difference.”

“But the injury wasn’t your fault, Scott. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

So she had done her homework. “You’re right. I don’t. But I wasn’t going to be the best, not after that. So I did the next best thing, which was to learn how to help others be theirs.”

“It’s not a small thing, you know,” she reaches out for his hand and gives him a squeeze. “Your system, it’s changed the way I skate. It’s the difference between silver and gold, I can feel it. I think it’s going to be the next big thing in sport. Not just ice skating.”

His heart feels full right at this moment. He’s here with the most beautiful and talented woman he’s ever met, and she’s telling him how amazing _he_ is. “And what about us? Are we going to be the next big thing?”

The hand that was gently squeezing his up till then suddenly stills. 

“Tessa.” The same hand she’s holding now catches hers with a tender urgency.

She can’t look at him. She can grit her teeth and skate through the pain, but she’s too damned chicken to see what could be real. What she hopes is real.

“Hey, it’s me,” Scott murmurs. “You know me.”

She looks up and takes a deep breath. “That’s the thing though. We _don’t_ know each other. We work together, I don’t need the distraction…this is problematic on so many levels.”

“Is that what I am to you? A distraction?” He asks, a hurt tone in his voice.“You fucking rocked my world the moment we met, don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too. Now we’re just going to sit around and ignore it?”

“I can’t do this, Scott. There’s too much at stake,” she bites her lip, knowing what she’s saying is going against everything she wants. She wants to run, but she’s not going to behave like a child. If he can be brave and vulnerable, she can too. “I’m not saying no, I just, I can’t commit to anything else right now.”

He nods, he knows it isn’t fair to make any demands on her. He doesn’t get to do that. 

So it’s back to a non-date again. It wraps up quickly after that, both of them feeling pretty shitty. 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, as he accompanies her to her Uber once their dinner is over.

“Don’t apologise, Tessa. I’m a grown ass guy. I understand where you’re coming from,” he states unequivocally.

“Are we still friends?”

“Always.” And he shuts the door and taps it to signal for the driver to move, his heart plummeting as quickly as the car speeds off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to do angst, but these two just wouldn't do what I wanted to ie smut. Loved it? Hated it? Let me know. Thank you to all 5 of you still reading hahaha, don't forget to comment or yell at me on Twitter @lapetitemort20


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall-out from the non-date, test skates, competition - so much is happening!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you bear with me because this was a monster to write. Special thanks as usual to @RookandPawn1 - thank you for coming back to Twitter, and as ever @ExcuseMeMsTessa who I created a character for, also the OLC and MAC.

**Pick up your goddamn motherfucking phone. I’ve called like 500 times.**

**Tessa, pick the fuck up.**

**Have you seen what’s fucking blowing up on Twitter and Instagram right now?**

**For fuck’s sake.**

**Call me when you get this.**

_Ugh_. It could only be her PR manager Fey who would send such foul-mouthed urgent texts. You’d never think it looking at her; this diminutive slip of a girl, with long brown hair, and olive skin, who kept a cockatoo named Belle as a pet. What she lacked in size she more than made up in a potty mouth and an even dirtier mind. 

She’d been on ice all morning so she hadn’t looked at her phone at all. It was Monday, too early for any sort of conversation, and worse still, two days after her disastrous non-date with Scott. She really wasn’tin the mood for socialising, digitally or otherwise. Normally she was quite interactive on Instagram but she left off posting this weekend because she had been upset by how they had left their rendezvous. 

She’s taken aback when she finally opens the app and finds her account furiously tagged in a series of dimly-lit photos uploaded by a fan.

Of her and Scott holding hands.

_Fuck_. 

The sentiments range from curious and supportive to thirsty, bordering on uniquely obscene, and some, downright invasive. 

**GET IT GIRL!!!**

**WHO IS THIS MYSTERY HOTTIE?**

**I’D GET DOWN ON MY KNEES AND BLOW HIM.**

Fey is going to kill her. There’s no amount of PR spin that’s going to make this okay, especially when the fans and media find out who he is. _Fuck fuck fuck fucketty fuck_. 

She tells Marie-France she needs a quick break and puts on her skate guards whilst she finds a quiet corner to call Fey. 

“Hey,” she tests the waters. 

“What do you mean ‘hey’? We’re swimming in a shit storm and that’s all you can say?” 

Tessa rolls her eyes. Fey always did know how to do drama. Maybe that’s why she’s so good at her job. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” she begins to explain. 

“I’ll tell you what it looks like. It looks like you were on a date with one of your coaches. That’s what it looks like,” sputters the tinny voice. 

“It wasn’t a date!” How many times does she have to say that?

“Well for a non-date, it’s looking mighty cozy,” comes Fey’s retort. She’s right. Tessa looks at the series of photos posted by @virtueskissesxoxo and there’s no denying the way they’re looking at each other and the tenderness in their touch, no matter how bad the lighting is. Even through her phone screen their chemistry is undeniable. She feels a smile play upon her lips in spite of herself. 

Her fans could be...for want of a better word, rabid, at times. Their devotion to her, especially post-Vancouver and Sochi had reached fever pitch. They broke down every article, photo, insta story, wardrobe choice, pose, and caption into impressive analysis regarding her life, mental health, sponsorship strategy, and romantic prospects. Often, they weren‘t far from the truth, but somehow always missing a key piece of the puzzle. She loves them all the same. 

It isn’t the fans who are the problem. It’s the media. This is a narrative she won’t be able to control. Already there are clickbait articles sprouting up about the impropriety of her so-called romance. She can deal with this heat - has been used to it over the years, but it may have further reaching consequences for Scott and his position on her team. 

She feels a flare of anger spike up within her belly. “And what of it? Scott and I are friends. My private life isn’t anyone’s business.”

“I love your naïveté, my darling girl. Unfortunately real life doesn’t work that way. Which is why you have a PR manager. Even if you _are_ smooshing booties with him, which damn girl - you _should_ be tapping that fine ass - your life, private or otherwise, isn’t fully yours anymore.”

Tessa sighs, knowing Fey is right. They talk a little bit more about possible solutions and then hang up. She’s not sure if the strategy they’ve come up with is going to stick. More importantly, she feels terrible at how this will affect Scott. He’s supposed to show up at this morning’s session, but he hasn’t turned up yet. She’s anxious. Not knowing if she’s the cause or if it’s because of this PR faux pas. She should have realised that she can’t do ‘ordinary’ things without the weight of public scrutiny upon her. It always surprises her how interested people are about her life, even as she does carefully cultivate the interest herself. 

She’s back on the ice working on her quad jumps with her jump coach when he finally shows. She’s attempting to be the first woman figure skater in history to land a quad jump since Miki Ando in 2002, but she’s aiming at raising the bar, wanting to hit not just a quad lutz, but a quad salchow, and then utterly destroy the bar by landing a quad-triple combination in her programme. She’s already landing them in practice in the last few months, all that remains is to do so while performing under pressure and with Scott’s system, she knows she can blow the competition out of the water.

She feels his eyes on her as she’s doing her cool down. She’s developed this ability to sense him no matter where he is. She’s never been a believer in the mystical but how else could she explain their connection?

“Good morning,” he greets her. 

“Is it?” She knows there’s a bite to her tone, but it really isn’t meant for him. 

“Well now that you mention it, Jennifer and Dominick sat me down this morning. It’s why I was late.”

Silence. So the news did travel fast then. 

“I told them we were just out as ‘platonic business partners’,” he says, using his fingers to sign the air quote. “That there’s nothing for them to worry about.”

“I see.” The coldness in her voice is how she compartmentalises. Shutting down is as natural as finding her edges. As deep and as sharp. 

He looks around the benches, they’re alone. “Tessa.”

For the second time in as many days, she can’t look up. She shakes her head. 

“Don’t shut me out. Talk to me. I thought we were friends.”

More silence. 

“I don’t understand, I mean, I do. You don’t want to, can’t get into this right now, but not talking to me about this social media thing is ridiculous. It was just dinner,” he steps closer to her. 

“I should have just kept my distance. Now this could cost you your job,” she finally takes him in. His face, tinged with a little sadness, makes him look more handsome than he already is.

“Look, there’s no actual rule that we’d be going against. It’s just the optics of it all,” he shrugs. 

We _would be_. Not we _went_. The conditional tense he uses makes her heart flutter. 

He continues, “I’m not going to insult your intelligence and discipline, nor mine, by assuming we’re not going to be able to control ourselves around each other. But all you have to do is say the word and I’ll quit. I don’t need this job, I can get my data in other ways.” 

Did he rehearse this speech? He’s saying all the right things and it’s doing the opposite of the self-control he’s talking about. 

“No, I would never ask you to do that,” she says vehemently. 

“Your commitment to that gold medal is more important than anything else,” he says equally fiercely. 

“You’re part of that journey too, Scott. There are no coincidences in the universe,” she unknowingly quotes him back to himself. “We met for a reason.”

“And what reason might that be?” 

She can’t think of any that won’t give away what she feels in her heart so she keeps a level gaze to his liquid amber eyes. Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe they don’t even need a reason. Maybe souls are just meant to find each other and when they do, they don’t know what it feels like to have been alone. 

“The point is, I want you to stay on. We’ll just need some distance until this whole thing blows over. I spoke to my PR manager and she’s going to do some damage control. In any case, I don’t have time for all this drama. Test skates are up soon and then it’s the Autumn Classic. My head needs to be in the game,” she states firmly.

She’s gone back to being bad-ass business bitch Tessa.

“Yes ma’am. Distance it is.” 

And he’s true to his word. They stay apart unless he absolutely needs to be around her for their conditioning sessions. It’s pure torture of course, but he takes comfort in the fact that she might want him as much as he does her, enough to be partners in this, lest they become consumed. He doesn’t turn up to her on-ice sessions, getting the videos taken by Romain or Patch instead, and when he’s there, he watches from a safe distance and even then, only for a while. 

She’s seen out and about that weekend at Toronto Fashion Week, then the next at TIFF (in a dress worn backwards no less) because of sponsor obligations, papped with a slew of beautiful men (the photos of which cause considerable jaw clenching), so the whole mystery-man-handholding debacle has been forgotten. 

Her test skates at High Performance Camp go well aside from a few choreographic changes. The judges and officials love her, even if she’s dropped in rankings because of her two-year break. There’s such a buzz in the air about her comeback. The skaters who have clawed their way up during her hiatus aren’t too happy about it, but this _is_ Canada, and everyone’s too nice to say anything mean. At least not to her face, although shehears whispers of how she’s looking her age and why on earth she would ever want to make a comeback. 

They all shut up of course when she debuts her programmes and lands all her quad jumps and combinations. She’s making history but she wants more, and goes back to training with a vengeance, determined to silence her international naysayers at the Autumn Classic and Skate Canada within the next two months. 

Whilst she’s channeling all her fury and fire into her goals, she can’t help but miss Scott’s companionship. The morning rides to the rink were precious lighthearted moments she looked forward to in a schedule that was carved out to the minute. She knows it’s silly to want to hear ridiculous truths, like the fact he’s terrified of mascots or badly concealed lies like he can’t stand anything by Hall and Oates, but it means so much because it’s him. 

She misses her warm ups when he’s out on the ice and they’re stroking silently hand in hand, or when he shows her how to lean into the corners like a speed skater and they tumble and slide into each other instead, laughing like little children on Christmas morning. Perhaps she had been wrong - perhaps she did know him, after all, and him her. She’s second guessing herself - did she jump the gun, stopping something before it even started?

Now it just feels like her training sessions are a little colder and a lot lonelier without his exuberant presence, but she recognises that being with someone whilst campaigning for an Olympic gold medal is probably the most selfish thing to do in the world. It wouldn’t be fair to put that on Scott. How much could she give of herself when gold is all-consuming?

She wins at her comeback debut at the Autumn Classic despite not nailing her quad attempts. She hits the triple axels and her other combinations are clean and with height to spare, which is a saving grace, she supposes. It isn’t an ideal start but she knows that her programmes and performance will only continue to grow and improve as the season goes on. It’s better that she blunders now rather than later on in the year. The media maelstrom surrounding her is huge despite her mistakes, and she doesn’t waste the opportunity to plug her involvement with her on- and off-ice team, as well as Scott’s experimental system. 

At times like this she feels thankful that she doesn’t have the additional pressure of a relationship to add to her stresses. 

And yet, she can’t help but feel disappointed that Scott doesn’t even show up to watch even though the competition is held in Montreal. He still brings her coffee post-workout on the days she comes in for her conditioning sessions, although it’s the assistant conditioning coach Paul with a dodgy moustache who takes over. When they do talk, it’s during video analysis sessions and their exchanges are professional and brief, yet filled with the weight of so many things that can’t be said. She sometimes senses him watching her, or wanting to say something more, but they just can’t seem to get their timing right or she’s out the door before anything can happen.

She goes into Skate Canada in Mississauga with some changes to her free skate. She’s still finding her rhythm technically and emotionally, and it shows. Her short programme is fire and she knows it, but comes in second after her free skate, missing her quad attempts and barely hanging on to her overall lead. It wasn’t the moment she wanted out there on the ice, especially in her hometown province of Ontario, but the fans rallied her out there, and in the end it was something she could be proud of.

Her disappointment lingers, however. Marie-France and Patch have been angels, and so supportive, but she wishes Scott were here. She misses him. And fuck knows she _wants_ him. It’s a paradox how much he puts her at ease yet causes her anxiety, but she knows the latter is because of her. _Because she’s fighting the fact that she just might be falling for him_. 

The last thing she needs is to socialise at the gala dinner, but Marie-France convinces her otherwise. “It’ll be good for you, petite chérie,” and floats away with a conspiratorial wink. Tessa doesn’t want to waste the perfect outfit she picked out for the event, so she grudgingly complies. 

_If you can’t win well, you might as well look good doing it_ , she thinks as she gives her reflection a once-over in the mirror. She’s left her hair down, tousled and curled, her makeup is a simple smoky eye, and she’s wearing a fitted black bodysuit with gossamer balloon sleeves and a mesh back and bottom half. On its own it’s risqué, but she’s paired it with a long tulle skirt which fits her mood - dark, yet diaphanous.

It’s like any other competition gala dinner, with lots of so-called important people, ISU officials, judges, sponsors and the other competitors. It’s usually a good opportunity for Tessa to catch up with her skating friends and network, but she’s not in the mood tonight. She’s been held hostage for the last 30 minutes by one half of the Canadian ice dancers, but the conversation has died a million deaths even before it started. She’s looking around desperately trying to find a way out without hurting his feelings, even if he does have great hair and dimples.

A sharp familiar laugh catches her attention, and suddenly he’s all she sees. _Scott’s_ _here_. He’s on the other side of the ballroom, but she sees him as clear as day, standing in the middle of a group telling what seems to be a funny story, but also very close to one of the Russian skaters whose fluttery hands can’t seem to stop touching him. He glances up, finding her eyes immediately - a dead giveaway to the fact that he knew exactly where she was. He gives her his signature salute, then returns his gaze to the pretty young thing by his side and nods at whatever he can understand through her strong accent.

Did he just try to make her jealous? And worse still, _is she_? Tessa Virtue isn’t the type to get ruffled over competition, especially when there isn’t any to be had. But she has to stake her claim somehow. Fuelled by a foreign burning in her solar plexus, Tessa makes a hasty excuse to the boring ice dancer and strides gracefully across the room. She isn’t thinking about what she’s doing, only reacting, feeling, and even then, she’s not sure what. 

“Scott, hi!” She feigns surprise, for the benefit of the group, as she touches the arm of his sleek navy suit. “What are you doing here?”

“Tessa.” His eyes are crinkling with amusement. “I was in Ilderton this week for family stuff, and I drove up because Marie-France invited me.” 

“Just for dinner?” She angles herself between Scott and the Russian skater. She knows he can see what she’s doing, but right now she doesn’t care. 

“I was here to watch the competition as well.” 

So he must have watched her skate. “What did you think?”

“You were beautiful, as always,” he praises. The group nod in assent. He drinks her in, his gaze intense. He’s liking her outfit - she looks like a goddess, or a witch, he can’t be sure. This edge to her, coupled with an out-of-character possessiveness, intrigues him. 

“Would you like to dance?” She clears her throat, caught unawares by her own question.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Unless you prefer the company of a certain Russian skater, of course,” she jibes.

He leads her to the dance floor in reply, as the big band starts to play ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’.

“So,” he starts.

“So,” she echoes.

They’re in an awkward dance hold, far enough for it to look and feel weird.

He tries to close the gap, but she moves away a little. “Where are you going?” He quizzes.

“A safe distance away from you.” 

“You’re good at that,” he points out. “Except you crossed the entire ballroom to come talk to me, so that argument doesn’t hold. Weren’t you fascinated by your conversation with Poje?”

So he’d been watching her the entire time. 

“Are we jealous?” She laughs, feeling more than a little satisfied.

“Pfffft...My hair is way better than his,” as he takes a step closer towards her.

“It is,” she murmurs. 

He takes another step then twines his fingers around hers, lifting them to encircle his neck, “There, that’s better.”

They dance closely in silence for the remainder of the song, listening to the lyrics. _Stars fading but I linger on dear, still craving your kiss, I’m longing to linger till dawn dear, just saying this_. His hands rest comfortably at the small of her back, caressing her skin tenderly through the mesh material, as her fingers stroke absentmindedly at his curls at the nape of his neck. 

Maybe she doesn’t know what that does to him, but when the music fades, he looks her in the eyes and asks if she wants to leave.

“Please,” she nods. _How very Canadian and polite of her_. 

Somehow the dancing and the flirting has led them here. Into an elevator together and now outside her hotel room door. There seems to be a pattern emerging, but the stakes seem so much higher this time around. Even in the dim lights of the hallway, there’s no mistaking the intention and there are no more excuses to hide behind.

They’re both lucid and clear. They’re both making a choice. 

She’s just about to swipe her key card to gain entrance into her room when she turns her back against the door in a last ditch effort to stop the inevitable. He’s instantly too close, the momentum of presumption causing his body to come into full contact with hers. They’re not dancing anymore, but perhaps this is a different type of dance. The buzz of the ballroom, the din of all those people and the big band sounds have all but melted away and zeroed right into this one vivid, crystalline moment. 

“Are we insulting our intelligence and discipline by doing this?” She asks, her throat dry, feeling punch drunk by his mere proximity, yet at the same time completely and utterly parched for him. 

“We’d be insulting ourselves by...not...” he murmurs, his arms caging her in, his forehead falling against hers, as his aquiline nose starts to slide sideways in order to tilt his mouth towards hers. He breathes in her scent, and he’s hit by a dizzying surge of lust.

"What about your job?" She's running out of reasons to deny him.

"What about it?"

Her eyes flit close and the back of her head bumps into the door, as she pushes her palms against the dark wood to steady herself. _What is it with them and doors_? _Where is the distance she needs to put between herself and him right now_? A sliver of breath is all it’s going to take to close the space they’ve tried so desperately to create. Once that’s been breached, she knows she’ll be lost.

He knows it needs to be on her terms. “Ask me to stay,” his voice no louder than a whisper, his lips precariously close to hers. 

“I can’t.” 

“But you want to,” he states, it’s not even a question. 

She doesn’t answer, her resolve slowly crumbling. 

“Tell me to leave then.”

A long pause. She opens the door, and she steps across the threshold. He’s waiting, and she pulls him in. It’s not even a question.

“May I?” One hand curls in her hair at the base of her neck, and the other cups her chin. Unlike the last time, the build up is slow and deliberate.

No one’s ever asked to kiss her before. It’s chivalrous yet sets her alight all at once. Partly because she already knows what his lips taste like, partly because it’s been too long craving them, and she might die if he doesn’t.

“Please,” she says for the second, but certainly not the last, time of the night. 

It’s not their first kiss, but the way his lips catches hers makes her feel like it’s the only one that matters. His breath is hot against her eager mouth, but he’s taking it _so slow_ , _so exquisitely unhurried_ , that she nearly goes out of her mind with need. His lips part hers gently, and he slides his tongue to meet hers in languorous exploration. She feels him smile against her lips and teeth, before he takes her bottom lip in his mouth, sucking it seductively, leisurely. Then he’s deepening the kiss, just the way she wants and has been yearning for.

Her hands are up in his hair, her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp and she’s clutching on to him as if she might go adrift in this sea of sensuality. All her senses are raw and ready for him. She can hear both their breathing getting louder and laboured, the one that’s caught in her throat giving way to guttural moans he’s already swallowing in his mouth. 

She pushes his suit jacket off his athletic shoulders as he walks her back towards the direction of her bed. She wants to feel him, touch him, the same way he’s tracing the lines of her back through her mesh top. Her fingers tease open the buttons of the white shirt that’s stretched taut against his chest, nails raking his skin, causing him to hiss in reply. They’re on the bed now, his body pushed flush against hers, leaving little doubt as to what he wants. Both of them are gasping - whether it’s for air or from the unadulterated chemistry between them - it’s hard to say, now that they’re not holding back.

She doesn’t know how long they go on kissing for but she wants more. More than his expert lips coaxing sighs, murmurs and moans from her mouth. More than his muscled body grinding against the relative softness of hers. More than his long fingers grazing under the curves of her small breasts, down to her waist. More than his greedy hands pushing up beneath her tulle skirt. _More more more_.

“I could kiss you all night,” his voice is muffled as he drags his lips down her neck, placing open-mouthed nips on the creamy expanse of her skin. His tongue then circles her nipple through her top, taking in a mouthful and sucks, doing the same to the other, as if he were trying to consume her whole. 

She arches her back in reaction, and manages to plead, “I hope you’ll do more than just kiss me.” Her mouth finds his again, revelling in their heated exchange.

“I…want…you…so…bad…” he punctuates between kisses. “I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”

She moans at his admission and writhes below him, struggling to kick her skirt off at the same time. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, about us…since we met,” she pants. She’s completely drenched, just from the kissing and touching alone, and he’s going to find out just how wet soon enough.

He claims her mouth again, tenderly, as he interlaces his fingers with hers. Her skirt is off now, and suddenly he’s still, sitting up to look at her. She’s a vision on the white bed, with her dark hair fanning out across the now-rumpled sheets, her black top and those delicate billowing sleeves creating a contrast that’s at once erotic and chaste.

“Oh, fuck Tessa,” he exhales loudly, his voice rough and gravelly. The mesh that left little to the imagination around the back of her top also extends down her torso and her pelvis. She’s _completely bare_ underneath. His cock twitches hard, straining against his trousers. 

“Do you like what you see?” 

“Fuck, yes.” He can’t stop looking. He’s imagined her countless times since their anonymous erotic coupling, never thinking he might get a chance to taste her again. She had a small strip of hair then, but now she’s completely smooth. 

“What was it you were saying about kissing me?” She nudges her knee against his. 

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He grabs her powerful thighs and pulls her down savagely to where he’s settled on the bed. He hooks his arms under her knees and lowers his mouth to kiss her over the mesh, tracing her belly ring, then the line of her abs with his tongue right down to the juncture where her legs meet her pelvis. “How the hell do you take this thing off?” He groans in frustration. 

But before she can reach for the snap buttons below, his fingers are sliding all over her wet folds through the sheer material. Her desire is plain to see and feel, the crotch of her bodysuit utterly soaked with her juices. His mouth is hovering just above her pussy, and he’s taking in the scent of her arousal in a deep and shaky inhale.

She can feel his hot breath against her nether lips and the anticipation is killing her. “Please Scott, please. I need your mouth on me,” she moans out, not caring if she sounds like she’s begging. 

She _wants_ him, she _needs_ him. This beautiful woman, the one who’s thoroughly undone with longing for him. 

And just as he took her mouth earlier, does he do the same with her lips below. He kisses her full and slow as if he’s never tasted anything better, his lips covering her folds, and then parting them surely through the flimsy gauze. He can still play with her, influence her, manipulate her, licking stripe after stripe, from the top of her slit to the bottom, and all the way back up again. He nuzzles his nose a little deeper when he hears her gasp and whine, her hands desperately clutching the back of his head, pushing him into her, as he flings off his shirt that hadn’t yet been shed in their feverish haste.

Her hips are lifting and rocking into his face, following the swirling rhythm of his tongue and mouth. Her cries are muffled by the toned arms that have fallen across her florid features, but she peers down at him now as he reaches out to entwine his fingers with hers. He wants to feel her with him, he wants her to look at him, to watch him take her pussy apart with his mouth, to see how much it turns him on to observe her fall from grace with the mere flick of his tongue and the suction of his lips. He doesn’t even need to enter her, to plunge his tongue or his fingers, even though she might so wretchedly want them. He’s tonguing her as deep as he can go, given the boundary of her top, then grasping and nipping her pussy lips ardently with his own, careful not to bite her, as much as he might want to. 

Again. And again. And again. 

Faster. Slower. Gentler. Firmer. 

He’s so hard right now, but this is not about him. At this moment, it’s all about her. He wants to make her feel good. He saw her disappointment out on the ice after her free skate, and he knew how badly she would be beating herself up about it. All he wants is to show her how much he cares, to give her even the tiniest feeling that she’s not alone out there. Knowing that he can give her release, and make her feel beautiful is more than enough right now. 

And release is what she gets. He doubles down on his rigorous attention of her pussy as he ruts against the mattress so he can get some measure of friction. Her writhing is as unrestrained and reckless as her moans now, riding his face hard, trying to seek any kind of purchase. He knows he’s got to give her something, so he pushes his knuckles rhythmically against her sopping wet cunt as he envelopes his mouth over her clit, tonguing, sucking and humming against it furiously. He’s holding her down across her belly with his other hand, fingers still entangled whilst she’s alternating tugging his hair and grabbing the sheets with her other. 

He can feel the moment she tumbles over the edge. He hears her first, her breathy moans turning into plaintive cries of ecstasy, telling him, warning him, that she’s going to come. Then her legs start to shake as swells and surges of pleasure come flooding over her. He doesn’t stop licking, sucking, or kissing her - he’s riding her wave, with a smirk against her trembling pussy. He takes care not to overstimulate her clit, but teases and probes enough for her to quake through yet another shuddering climax, leaving her hoarse, breathless and swearing like a sailor. 

He’s ready to bring her to another orgasm but she’s too sensitive right now, and swats his head away. So he rubs his face into her soft inner thighs, kissing and biting his way up, whispering _how good she was_ , _how beautiful she looked as she came in his mouth_ , _how perfect she was as she lost control_. When he finally reaches her face, she thumbs his lips before kissing him earnestly and whispering a grateful _thank you_. 

“I told you I could kiss you all night,” he quips, as he carefully brushes a tendril of her hair away from her flushed face, before dropping a sweet kiss on her upturned nose. 

They lie there tangled in each other’s arms for a while as they regulate their breathing, taking stock of their actions tonight. When she reaches for him to return the favour ( _and fuck, she wants to so oh so badly_ ), he shakes his head saying that this was about making her feel good. 

He has to laugh inwardly at them then; what a pair they make - him in his suit trousers which are feeling decidedly too tight from the evening’s activities, and her in her now completely ruined bodysuit. He stays with her until he hears her breathing deepen, signalling that she’s fast asleep. He slips away, but not before sending her a quick text to her phone. He leaves not because he wants to go, but because he doesn’t want her to face the knowing glances and inquisitive looks the next morning if he shows his face, seeing as people saw them dancing, then leave together.

As he makes his way home on his two-hour drive back to Ilderton he can’t help but think that he’s a goner for sure. His body may still be burning from the wanting, but it's also sated by the pleasure he brought her. He takes a deep breath in as he rubs his hand across his mouth and nose - he can smell her muskiness on him even now. Yeah, he’s so _fucked_.

The message he sent to Tessa? **I don’t want to be a safe distance away from you**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was A LOT, but I'd love to know your thoughts. You know what to do, here and on Twitter @lapetitemort20 
> 
> Love you all x


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens next for our hot duo? A lot, apparently. Buckle up, it's a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank you's go out to @RookandPawn1 for bearing with me while I kept bugging her to read through. Special mention goes to @mycatcanwrite who is possibly one of my biggest and earliest champions, it's thanks to her that I actually began to trust in my own voice as a writer.
> 
> As always, this is for my wonderfully patient readers, the OLC, and MAC.

It’s a lot. 

His text message. The weight of what he’s asking. 

She’s been staring at the text for two hours since she woke up and she still doesn’t know what to say in response. The hunger of her body is slaked, but her mind is in turmoil. 

First of all, she’s embarrassed that she passed out from post-competition exhaustion and post-orgasmic bliss after he made her come twice in the early hours of that morning. But then he left. 

Secondly, what does it all mean between them now? They’ve pretty much admitted how much they want to be with each other. His text makes that much clear. But what next? 

Thirdly, a fucking text? Boy has a lot to learn about communication if he wants to be with her. 

Still, she can’t help but purr with smug contentment at the memory of what they did. In particular, what _he_ did. Someone should give his tongue a fucking trophy for all the things it made her feel. She goes a little red remembering the dirty curses that escaped her lips as she rode out her climaxes against his face. 

That clit-sucking vibrator has nothing on the filthy mouth of Mr. Gym-Fucking-Moir. Except maybe the squirting. They’re going to have to work on that. She tries not to worry too much about what _that_ subconscious thought means.

But back to the text. She’s not sure what she should reply.

She doesn’t need to because there’s a buzzing from her phone. It’s Scott. 

**Hey pretty girl.**

The speech bubble is typing away...

**I didn’t want to leave you last night but I needed to get back early this morning for my grandad. His health hasn’t been great.**

Oh, she feels bad now. 

**I meant everything I said and wrote last night. But I understand if that scares you.**

More typing...

**So I’ll settle for keeping an unsafe distance from you. Is that okay?**

More typing. 

Then nothing. 

Then typing again. 

**You are so beautiful.**

She sucks in a breath. How does he make her feel washed away in a tumultuous tide of emotions, and yet so secure at the same time?

She doesn’t want him to agonise over her silence, especially after the lengths he’s gone to make her feel so _so_ good, body and heart. So she picks up the phone and calls him. 

He answers almost immediately, “Hey you.”

“Hey yourself.” 

He can hear her smile over the phone. A short pause. “So, I recognise I might be a bit much, but I hope you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

She has an idea. “What might that be?”

“A bake-off date!” He whoops. 

“I don’t know, I just pulled that out of my bag of tricks,” he sounds a little unsure when she doesn't immediately answer.

“Well that’s a coincidence, because I was totally thinking that I need to brush up on my baking skills.” 

“Oh yeah?” His voice drops a little lower, and suddenly they’re not talking about baking anymore. 

“Yeah,” her breath is coming out a little shallower. “I was thinking I need some guidance in ummm...”

“Kneading dough?” 

“Something like that.”

A long pause. “I’d like that.”

“Does this fall into the unsafe distance category?” She asks innocently. 

He tries to suppress a laugh. “I think baking falls under the very dangerous distance category. You know, all that flour, butter, chocolate…it should be outlawed.”

She can think of a few things she’d like to do with chocolate and Scott Moir, and none of them has anything to do with baking. “I like the sound of that,” she says quietly. 

Another long pause. She can hear his steady, measured breathing over the line. She wants so badly to cause it to lose its rhythm and go erratic against her ear. 

“Tessa, I-”

“It’s alright, Scott. I’ll let you know what speed I feel comfortable with.”

“And right now? Is this your speed?”

They’re speaking in metaphors but she thinks they’re on the same page. 

She bites her lip, knowing it’s paradoxically slower and faster than what she wants, but it’s right for them to take their time. “I hope your grandfather is better.”

“Yeah, he’s just old, you know. I want to spend as much time as I have left with him.”

“That’s good. I’ll see you back in Montreal?” She asks hopefully. 

“First thing next week.” He’s already missing her. “Will you do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

“Think of me.”

“In any particular way?” She’s in a playful mood. 

He groans. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she teases lightly, knowing it’s a moot point anyway. He hasn’t been far from her thoughts since she met him that sultry day in June. 

***

Her heart is rolling like thunder when she enters the training facility the next week. She’d taken a day off post competition, gotten some rehab work done and she’s feeling rested and happy. Even happier, albeit nervous, knowing she’ll be seeing him today.

This changes everything between them. And yet it doesn’t. They’d been fooling themselves into thinking that they hadn’t felt this way from the get go. Now that they had started to give in to their physical desires, perhaps they could trust their emotions as much as their bodies. 

She comes in early so she can catch him before she starts her session with Paul and his spectacular moustache. She isn’t sure if Scott will take over her sessions again - does that count as ‘unsafe distance’? Perhaps it would be tempting fate. 

They should probably talk about it. Amongst other things. 

He isn’t in his office so she checks out the gym floor. Sure enough, there he is, shirt off, working on the fit ball for speed skate drills and then his trunk stability and weight loading with the ViPr. 

_Damn_.

She’s reminded of the first time she saw him. Now it’s even better, knowing what he feels and tastes like. But it’s also worse, because she’s whet her appetite and she wants more. 

He doesn’t notice her at first, and all she can do is admire his resolute focus. She knows he’s training like an animal, just as hard if not more, than some of the professional athletes that come in through here. She also knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help thinking about testing the limits of his endurance because the grunts he’s making are doing something quite unholy to her. 

When he stops his reps he looks up and sees her observing him in the mirror.

“You’re looking rather thirsty,” he comments as he walks over to her, fishing for something in his pocket and fastens a headband in his hair. 

“Not anymore I’m not,” she retorts. “What is that even? Are we trapped in the 80s?”

“Come on, this era gets so much flak! It gave us Bowie and ACDC.”

“Be that as it may, THAT is a hard no from me,” she shakes her head, laughing at his ability to take himself so seriously, yet not, in one go. He looks ridiculous, she thinks, wearing shorts over slim tights and that nonsensical thing upon his head, but somehow still manages to be super hot. 

It’s his sense of humour. Definitely. 

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his trapezius, pectoral, external oblique, deltoid, bicep, tricep and abdominal muscles are on full display and dripping in sweat. 

Nope. 

“Walk with me? I’m done with my workout,” he requests, chugging on his water bottle, and heads towards his office. 

She nods. He leaves the door slightly ajar once they are in his office, but moves in very close to her. So close she feels the hairs on the back of her arms rise. 

What he does next should be deemed illegal. Not because he’s all over her, but because he’s barely touching her, even as he strokes his fingers delicately on the inside of her wrist and up her arm, with the other hand lightly catching her ponytail. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. He’s talking about the last few days, but he’s also referring to the distance they’ve had to put between each other over the past couple of months. He doesn’t want to do that anymore. 

She swallows hard. That headband is distracting, but not enough to _not_ want to kiss him. He’s still a little out of breath from his workout and he hasn’t yet put on a T-shirt. She tries hard to ignore his V cuts and the trail of hair that leads from beneath his belly button right down to…

“Can you get decent because this is not helping me,” she sputters, gesturing wildly.

“Oh, you mean this?” He motions to his body. “Or this?” He points to the hair. 

“All of it. Not in a good way. Well, maybe a little.”

“Mhmmmm,” he grins, then sits on his desk as he pulls her by her hips so she’s standing in between his legs. “Did you miss me too?”

They shouldn’t be flirting like this here. They could get caught, but they’re like magnets. Sliding towards each other with an intense force. 

His grip on her tightens a little, expecting an answer, his beautiful fingers exerting a delicious pressure against her hips. 

“You know I did,” she breathes out unsteadily. 

“How would I know that?”

“Because of this,” she leans forward to express whatever she’s felt in the past few days, no, the past few months, onto his lips and into his mouth. 

Except it’s at that exact moment that Paul comes crashing noisily into Scott’s office with a little puppy in his arms. “Scott, meet Scout! Scout meet Scott! Isn’t he adorable?”

Both Scott and Tessa jump nearly five feet apart. If Paul notices what was happening he wisely says nothing, and in any case, the sexual tension that filled the room only moments ago evaporates. 

“We’ll talk after, okay?” She questions after a big puppy-cuddling session, as she heads off with Paul to start her session, leaving Scott to puppy-sit. 

“Sure.” He needs a (cold) shower anyway. Besides, talking should probably be high on the list of priorities right now. He shakes his head slowly at Scout, “What are we going to do, eh buddy?”

***

They don’t manage to speak after Tessa’s session because of Scott’s busy schedule, so they decide it’s best if they talk somewhere private. He sends her a text with his address, asking if she feels alright meeting him later in the week at home for their bake-off date. She answers a singular yes.

Friday afternoon can’t come soon enough, despite them working together throughout the week. Part of it is the build up, but part of it is the irrepressible desire to be close again. They’ve kept their interactions to a minimum lest Paul or god forbid Jennifer or Dominick stumble upon their more than PG-rated flirtations. 

Tessa knows this is possibly the worst time to play with fire. She’s got less than a month to her next GP assignment, and another four competitions until World’s. Yet the burning for Scott stokes the burning for winning as well. He seems to have unlocked an intensity in her emotions that both Marie-France and Patch have noticed in her programmes and commented, telling her to keep doing whatever it is that she’s doing. 

In this case it’s what she’s _not_ doing. 

At this very instance however, that intensity is dedicated to _actually_ kneading dough. 

When Scott suggested it during their last phone call, she didn’t think he was serious. Lord knows her cooking anything, let alone baking, is a recipe for disaster. But it turns out that the man always means business whenever it comes to baking. 

It’s not _all_ bad. In fact, it’s very good. Watching Scott do things with his hands is fast becoming a fixation. Even just a simple thing as adding some flour to the dough mixture on the kitchen counter. He’s got a dish towel hung over his shoulders and her brain is nearly short circuiting at his heavenly smell as he slots himself behind her in order to ‘help’.

“When I said I needed guidance, I’m quite sure this wasn’t what I had in mind,” she mutters, turning her head to look at him. 

He slides his fingers over her hands and they start to knead the dough together. “It’s very therapeutic, don’t you think?” He drops his mouth onto her shoulder and kisses her lightly there. 

She’s mesmerised by the way his hands move over hers, his long, lusty fingers making dents into the dough as her hands sink in the spongey mass. Therapeutic isn’t the word she would use.

She shuts her eyes for a moment and leans back against his chest. “Mhmmmm.” It’s domestic, is what it is. And erotic. It’s everything she craves. Besides winning. 

Her eyes flit open. “You’re very distracting, Moir. Let’s not forget why we’re here.”

He skims his nose up her neck and right into her ear. “And why’s that?” He darts his tongue out to flick against her earlobe and sucks it softly. 

She stills her hands against the dough. “We need to figure this out.” She spins around easily in his arms to face him. Her fingers are full of flour and bits of dough but she brings them up to rake them through his tie-me-down-and-fuck-me-hard length hair, down his jaw to his neck, finally resting them on his chest. 

“This?” He asks as he leans forward playfully to bite her lower lip. 

“This.” She tugs his v neck tee - one that hints at his collarbones, pulling him closer to her, kissing him as if her life depended on it. 

It’s been almost a week since they kissed last. It feels like a lifetime. And an eternity before that. Much like the last time, the anticipation of the kiss is as delicious as the kiss itself. But this kiss is like a shattering of so many walls between them. 

“I think we might have already figured this part out,” he jokes when they come up for air, before going in again for another round. 

“It’s the other stuff we need to talk about,” she murmurs against his lips when they break apart again.

He makes an enthusiastic throaty sound, “I want to figure that stuff out too.” 

“Not _that_ ,” she jabs his arm. “I mean, how are we going to do all this, while we pretend not to be doing it?”

“But we’re _not_ doing _it_ ,” he takes a nip at her throat, grinding his hips in contact with hers. “Yet.”

Her pussy clenches at their proximity and that luscious thought. She pushes at his chest. “Be serious for a moment.”

He sighs and takes a step back, willing down his erection. He can’t help wanting her. Not after the way he had her last time. And that first time too. “Okay, I’m serious.”

“What are we doing?”

“Baking? Kissing? Dating? All of the above?” He looks at her questioningly. Maybe the dating part might be a word too far. 

She blinks. “I know this sounds crazy considering what we’ve already done, but is it alright if we take it slow? There’s so much going on and I don’t want to make any decisions in the heat of things.”

He doesn’t agree but he nods all the same. 

“What do you want from me, Scott?”

There’s a long pause, as if he’s trying to word things carefully. He looks her right in the eyes when he answers. “Does it scare you if I tell you I want everything?”

She nods, baring herself to him by returning her gaze. 

“I know you can’t commit to anything, not right now, but I just want to be close to you. I want _you_. I’m hoping even a little bit of your brilliance rubs off on me, and that you could see me as I see you.”

_Goddammit_. That’s as close to a perfect answer as she’ll ever get. She bridges the distance and kisses him hard, hoping he can feel the words she can’t yet say. _He could be her sun, if only she would let him._

“You know we’re going to have to be careful, right? That means no interactions during training that’s out of the ordinary. This can’t get out to the media or anyone. And the last thing I want is for you to risk your job.”

“So many rules,” he mocks. “Can we get cracking on the apple pie if I agree?”

“You’re the one who’s been distracting me this whole time. I mean, the oven’s hot and so am I...”

“Oho, don’t tempt me!” 

They kiss slowly once more to seal the deal. Then they’re back to flirting while they continue their bake-off date. Her pie turns out a lot neater than his, but his somehow tastes like the kind she used to eat when she was a kid, reminding her of fall, and home. 

They’re curled up together on the couch much later, after apple pie, long debates on politics, art, film and music, more kisses, a spontaneous healthy dinner, a movie they barely watched, and a whole lot of languid touching. It’s dark outside, and she’s almost falling asleep, hypnotised by his deep, even breathing and one hand rubbing her back in circles. As far as dates go, it’s pretty darn perfect. 

“Stay.” His thumb sweeps up her cheekbone.

She snuggles into his arms but shakes her head. 

“Why not?”

“Because I know what will happen if I do. I won’t be able to control myself around you.” 

“That’s the point though,” he cracks with a wry smile. “I don’t want you to control yourself around me.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Are we having our first fight?” He kisses both her hands. “Because I’ll say sorry right now.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” she rolls her eyes and laughs, reluctantly gathering her things. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you.” It’s cheesy, but he really means it and he kisses her goodnight to show just how much. 

***

The sneaking around is torrid and exciting, but it’s driving him bat shit crazy. He’s willing to wait until she’s ready but it’s pure torment being around her and not being able to touch her. They’re trying to set boundaries - no touching or kissing during training, no staying over, no sex. If they go out to grab a meal, it’s strictly as ‘friends’, but they’re basically dry humping each other like horny teenagers when they’re not getting to know each other better through conversation. 

He understands why. He likes it even. It harks back to a time when men actually courted women in a gentlemanly fashion, minus the fully-clothed thrusting that is. He knows that although the beginning of this - whatever this is - was hardly vestal, he wants her to know he’s in it for the long haul. 

He’s back to watching and videoing her training at the rink, but he stays away from her at the gym, so the car rides over provide them with little respites of intimacy. They resume their game of two truths and one lie, but the truth is they’d much rather spend that time holding hands or exploring each other’s mouths and lips and bodies and touch. 

Tessa’s in Japan for the NHK Trophy with a quick stop back in Montreal before jetting off to France for the Grand Prix Finals. It’s the first time she’s away since they’ve met, even if they’ve spent most of that time circling each other from afar. The fact is, now that they’re ‘together’, she can’t imagine an existence without him in it. 

When she opens her suitcase to unpack, she finds a little handwritten good luck note tucked into one of her shoes. Scott must have hidden it when he came over the night before she left. She can’t believe how thoughtful and romantic he is. It makes her wonder for the hundredth time why they can’t be together officially, even though she’s the one setting the pace. He’s had the patience and willpower of a saint, but she’s the sinner for resisting him more and more. 

Tessa decides right then that she doesn’t want to wait any longer. She wants to give him all of her, and to claim him as her own. She’s going to tell him how she feels, and the epiphany that comes with her decision gives her clarity and peace.

She gets the news the day of her short programme. One of her best friends growing up, Calleigh, has just passed away suddenly in an accident. The shock of it hits her like a speeding train. She’s numb, so numb. Her own mortality has never felt more fragile, and her _raison d’être_ never more irrelevant. Her beautiful friend, in the blossom of youth, has been cruelly snatched away from the world. 

There isn’t even time to grieve. Her short dance is in an hour, and practice sessions are already in full swing. Tessa doesn’t know how she gets through her programme, but she does. She’s thankful that her hard work and dedication have allowed her instincts and right brain to take over - she’s put in more than her 10,000 hours worth. She can’t even be called an outlier anymore, she’s practiced over and over and over again not just to get it right, but until she can’t get it wrong, even if she tried. 

She leads after the short programme, and it’s all she can do not to break down in her Kiss & Cry. 

She doesn’t call or message Scott, even though he’s the only person she wants to speak to. She’s afraid that if she does, she’ll never stop crying. And that just won’t do. 

She dedicates her free dance the next day to the memory of Calleigh, and skates as if she’s dancing for the last time, leaving everything on the ice as she floats across the glacial expanse to the heartbreaking piano instrumental of her music. 

If she could bring her friend back to life with this ritual, begging a god, any god, to reconsider, this is the dance that would have done it. It’s moving, touching and emotional. In her final position down on her knees, the words of the song have never rung more true. 

_You lift my heart up when the rest of me is down, you, you enchant me, even when you’re not around, if there are boundaries, I will try to knock them down._

It’s the first time she lands her quad jump in competition, not once but all her attempts and she receives a standing ovation, with nary a dry eye amongst the audience. She wins NHK by a mile but gold could not have tasted more bittersweet.

***

When she lands back home, she can’t think of anywhere else she wants to be. The words of the song were no coincidence either. She’s been skating to this music even before she met him, but it seems like it was chosen for them somehow. 

No more boundaries. _This is all in or nothing_. 

She’s at his door, her hair and face glistening from the light rain that has been falling. Montreal at the end of November is cold and unpredictable, and it’s as miserable as she feels. She’s wringing her hands together, suddenly unsure if she should have slipped in to his building when a resident exited. She hasn’t even had time to change, and she’s got her luggage with her. All she knows is that this is where she belongs.

She rings his doorbell. There’s no turning back now. 

He answers after a few moments, a confused look upon his face, and only a towel wrapped low around his hips. His hair is slicked wet, and his skin is still damp from the shower he’s just jumped out from.

“Tessa?” 

She falls wordlessly into his arms, a sob caught in her throat. She didn’t know how much she needed him until now. How alone she’s felt.

His arms fold around her tentatively as she weeps endless, uncontrolled tears. She hasn’t allowed herself to mourn since she received the news, and now it seems nothing can stop this deluge.

“Tessa, shhhh, baby, Tessa, what happened?”

“Calleigh,” she wails. “She’s gone...she’s gone...”

He doesn’t know who Calleigh is, or why she was so important to Tessa. All he knows is that her heart is breaking right in front of him, and he’s the one she chooses to put her back together. He’s never seen her like this: emotionally fractured. 

He does what he can do, which is to simply hold her in his arms while she bawls like a baby, closing the door behind them as he waits for her stuttered breathing to calm. Her body feels tiny and cold against his warm skin, and he’s kissing her damp hair, rubbing soothing motions into her back.

She lifts her puffy face up to him when she manages to stop crying for just a moment, and the expression she finds in his nut-brown eyes makes her start shedding more tears again. She may be grieving, but she knows she wants him either way, and so she kisses him with an ache that takes both of them by surprise.

Her kisses are hungry and full of yearning. It takes him a moment to respond, because he’s not sure if this is grief talking or desire. But her lips are everywhere, on his _lips, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his neck and back to his mouth_ , and her hands are making their way down from his hair and body to the opening of his towel where he can’t hide his body’s carnal reaction to her passionate outburst. 

She buckles to her knees and she’s down on the floor, pressing her face into his towel where his pelvis is. She’s clawing it open in desperation, taking his tumescent cock in her hands. She moans through her sobs and draws a deep breath before she takes him into her mouth. 

The heat of her tongue and her ravenous lips all but makes him cry out in pleasure. He’s dreamt of her doing this for so long but this is not the way he wishes it for her. Not with tears, but with want. 

“Tessa,” he pants, squeezing his eyes shut, as she’s sliding her hands to pump him urgently following the rhythm of her mouth. “Not like this baby, please.”

He finds her fingers and pulls her up to him, regretting the loss of her warmth around his now very hard cock. He lifts her chin with his fingers, looking her right into her red rimmed eyes and kisses her with everything he’s got. He starts undressing her without a word, first her coat, then her shirt, sliding down her jeans as she kicks off her short boots and socks. Finally, when she’s in her underwear, he leads her across his apartment into his bedroom and into his bathroom where he turns on his rain shower. 

He turns to her and slowly slips her bra straps down her shoulders. He bends his head down to kiss the creamy tops of her beautiful breasts as he unhooks her bra, catching one nipple in his mouth, sucking softly the moment they are freed, repeating the same thing to the other. 

She’s silent now, the wracking sobs quelled by desire and wonder. _How is he so gentle and patient with her when she’s a blubbering mess_? His fingers hook into her panties and he slides them down unhurried, watching her, his fingers brushing against her naked sex. She shivers, partly from the cold, a spread of goosebumps all over her body, partly from anticipation. She’s waited too long for this.

“Come,” he offers his hand to her. It’s an invitation, and a promise.

She steps into the shower to join him and folds herself within his arms beneath the strong, warm jets of water. It’s intimate and overwhelming at once. She finds herself weeping again, but he just stands there, his arms around her, his hands stroking her hair, steady as a rock. She doesn’t know how long they stand there together, with the water sluicing over both their bodies, but when she has cried all the tears she can possibly cry, he begins to lather her with soap and shampoo her hair. 

It’s not sexual at all, although it is sensual. 

It’s everything.

She lets him clean her, pamper her, take care of her. She’s been doing it all her life on her own, and it feels right for someone, for him, to take over, even for a moment.

His hands map over her expertly, touching her lightly across the surface, but deep within as well. She’s never felt so adored or loved. It feels like a form of devotion, this worshipping of her body.

Once he’s dried them both, he leads her onto his bed and kisses her deep and tenderly, as if asking permission. She kisses him shyly back in reply, and he pulls her onto his lap. He slicks his palm with his saliva and pumps his cock a few times before he rolls on a condom that he’s grabbed from his bedside drawer. He won’t make the same mistake again with her, as much as he loved riding her bare. There’s just too much at stake.

They’re face to face, with her legs wrapped around his waist. Suddenly she’s self-conscious and can barely meet his eyes. 

“No,” he whispers, kissing her again. “Look at me, and take what you need.”

So she does. There’s scarcely a demand for any form of foreplay, the past six months having been a buildup of burning and teasing of epic proportions, the ember of want glowing, merely waiting for the right time to ignite into flames.

She’s already wet and willing, has been since she walked through his door. She slides onto him unrushed and deliberate, in a long movement that elicits moans from them both when he finally bottoms out. Her hands are hooked around his neck, fingers curling into his hair, looking right into his eyes. 

He feels _thick, hard, full_ deep inside of her. She feels _tight, warm, slippery_ all around him. 

The moment she starts to circle her hips in order to drive him into her, they become lost to one another. 

He’s in fucking ecstasy, and he can’t stop staring, touching and kissing - her mouth, her breasts, her hair, her hips, her shoulders, her neck, her ass, her collarbones, her thighs. He’s waited too long for this.

There are sighs, grunts, cries and whimpers of lust and pleasure, but not a word more. Any conversation they’re having is in their unwavering and intense eye contact. 

A part of it is grief fucking, she knows, but they’re also making love in a profound and powerful way. She had made the decision to give him all of her _before_ the news about Calleigh. She wants him to know that her being with him has _nothing_ and _everything_ to do with that.

She’s alive, and she doesn’t want to live with regret. She doesn’t want to leave this world without taking a chance on something that could be love.

Similarly, he’s pouring out every emotional response he has into each touch and thrust. Where she was desperate and aching in their first union, he is passionate, yet steady and indefatigable. Where she was as reckless as a whirlwind all those months ago, he’s leaving nothing up to chance. He wants every moment to last, purposeful and all-consuming.

And yet he knows there’s time enough for that. So he lets her set the pace, keeping his promise to give her what she needs. He moves on to his knees, whilst she rides up and down his cock, and he pumps into her, alternating fast and slow, _again and again_ , helping to keep a kind of rhythm by guiding her ass back and forth. 

She’s arching her back in pleasure, forgetting her pain, inviting his mouth to her breasts, which he bites and sucks with great zeal. He has to wrap one arm around her waist and balance the other on the bed so they don’t topple over. She undulates back up to press her body close to his, her nipples grazing against his muscular chest. She’s grinding against him now, bouncing indecently on his powerful thighs and fucking him with a fervour so much so he has to ease her sensual cadence with his hands gripped tightly on her hips.

“We have all night baby...slow down,” he groans, knowing he can’t take much more before he blows.

“We have forever,” she moans in reply, thrusting her hips in contact with his, creating a delicious friction between them, her arms pushing against his shoulders as leverage so he can fuck her harder. “Right now, I want to come with you.”

All he can do is speed up and go harder in response. The silence between them is no more, his breathing is loud and heavy against her mouth, and he’s telling her every single thing he wants to do to her. Every filthy and romantic thing he’s thought about since meeting her. 

She takes pleasure in the fact that she’s the one bringing him to the brink. She’s so close, this position giving her a perfect view of his rapturous expressions, and her clit the pressure it needs to make her come, and come hard. 

They’re pushing each other at a relentless and punishing tempo towards a simultaneous orgasm, and before long the wet sounds of their combined desire, their mounting animalistic cries along with his weight pushing against her clit causes her pussy to start seizing and fluttering around his solid, rigid cock. He feels _so good_ , and he’s making her feel even better. She wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his, voicing out her climax in no uncertain terms. He’s coming too, she can feel him shuddering as he continues to grind into her over and over, moaning her name. 

_We have forever_ , he thinks as they lie entwined in each other’s limbs, their breaths hot and unrestrained. 

He wants forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? No? YES? YES? YES?
> 
> You know what to do. Gimme love. All of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash. I figured that the fandom probably needs some smut to counter all the RTR emo feels and also Cleveland cancellation (I’m so sorry). 
> 
> Here is a shorter chapter than the last two, but let me assure you it is 100% pure filth born from a conversation on Twitter. You know you who are. TW: There is ZERO plot.
> 
> Thank you to @ExcuseMeMsTessa for always having my beta back x

He must be dreaming. Because only there does he have the kind of mind-blowing, soul-shaking, earth-shattering sex that he’s always wanted to with the woman of his dreams. He’s never been so hard, so ready to go, and so motivated to make a partner come repeatedly until she’s mewling from rapture and exhaustion. 

Only in his dreams is he blessed to fuck for hours, giving as good as he’s getting. Only there is he granted every ability to bring this woman to her knees, begged to fuck her long, hard, fast and slow, loud with her cries filling the space around them, and hushed with his hand over her mouth, only to have her nip and suck his fingers in an effort to fill her mouth with something if she can’t have his cock in her mouth as well as inside her. 

Only there can he fuck her as he wants to. Fuck her the same way she desires to. 

Except it isn’t a dream. And that woman is Tessa. 

He can’t actually believe it himself. What happened last night passed almost like a reverie to him. It wasn’t _just_ fucking. Something happened between the two of them that changed everything. They were on another plane. What began as urgent desire transformed into tender solicitude, then metamorphosed once again into all-consuming need, scorched and burning. 

It wasn’t enough after the first time. Not even after the third. 

It would _never_ be enough. 

And right now she’s waking him up with tiny licks and kisses up his inner thighs. Holy hell, the things she did with her mouth last night. He didn’t even last five minutes. That move she made with her thumb pressed up against his perineum while taking him deep inside her sweet yet filthy mouth? Well, let’s just say he very much wants to try that again. 

He lets out a loud moan the moment her hands wrap around his already stiffening cock. He can’t help it. The way she makes him feel, there’s no way he could keep that kind of physical reaction voiceless. He’s never been that vocal in the past but something about her makes him want to put into words, or at least sounds, the way her touch affects him. 

Maybe it’s the way she herself is so uninhibited in voicing out her pleasures. Or how she moves and responds beneath his elegant hands and virile body. 

He looks down and she’s underneath the soft grey jersey covers so all he can see is a formless bump right between his legs. His bed is a mess, a battleground of sorts, both of them emerging victorious amongst the dried up wet patches of their carnal activities. She peeks out with a huff, blowing her hair out of her face, her green eyes mischievous in the incandescence of the morning light. 

She’s exhausted and a little bleary-eyed, but she can’t get enough of him. She rests her head on his thigh. It’s such an intimate gesture that if she weren’t slowly pumping his cock in one hand, sliding her soft fingers up and down his velvety skin, he might have teared up right then.

“Good morning,” she purrs and drops a kiss on the head of his swelling cock. 

_Jesus-Fucking-H-Christ_. If every morning started like this, they would certainly be good mornings to look forward to. 

“That’s not the only good thing here,” he grins in reply, pulling her up so she can slither her way towards his mouth. He forgets his morning breath for a moment, kissing her long and full, his lips promising so much more. “Good morning, beautiful.”

Her hands snake to his stomach and back down to his shaft. She’s not to be distracted. 

“I’m not complaining, but what happened to taking things slow and not making decisions in the heat of things?”

“Fuck taking things slow. I want everything.” And she dives back in, making quick work of her fingers, lips and tongue, throwing off her somnolence. “And that includes this.”

Gone is emotional Tessa from the night before, although she was beautiful and touched his heart the way no one ever had before. He thinks he might be a lot _in love_ with her. But right now in her place is seductive Tessa, who knows exactly what she wants and what she’s doing. He’s fucking crazy about her too. 

“Show me,” she says suddenly, sliding her hot mouth off of his cock, her saliva glistening all over his hardness. “Tell me what you like.”

He’s half torn between grasping her head and begging her to continue and wanting to fulfil her voyeuristic fantasy. He decides on the latter. 

She waits, sliding up onto her elbows to observe him. His cock is beautiful. Thick in girth, straight in line, and the perfect length for her. She wants to know every which way to please it, please him.

He slides his hand down to his already slippery length but reaches out for her hand too. “I want you to feel it.”

She nods for him to begin, and darts her tongue out to lick her lips in anticipation. He places his hand above hers and starts to slowly stroke himself up and down. He grips her hand a little tighter so that there’s a little more friction than she’s used to if she were doing it on her own. 

Quick pumps up and long strokes down. Light twists across the head of his cock, and his breathing starts to get uneven. They repeat the motions together until his loud breaths turn into needy moans. 

“Tell me, baby,” she crawls a little closer. 

In the warm light of morning, he feels almost self-conscious but he wants her so badly. He wants her to know him completely. Body and soul. 

“I like - I like it when you put your mouth on me.” 

She slides up even further, her breasts grazing the tops of his thighs, “Like this?” 

And her lips are on him again as their fists pump together in unison up to her mouth. She’s sucking the tip of his cock, at first lightly, but then with a growing urgency, using her tongue to lick his ridges and his slit, greedily tasting the salty goodness of his pre-cum. 

He groans loudly as his hips lift up to meet her. “Just...like...that. God, your mouth. You feel so good. I want to fuck it so hard.”

Her hands still beneath his, right at the base of his cock. She holds him tightly there for a moment and curls her other fingers around his balls, caressing them tenderly. She slides her nose along his length, taking in his musky, masculine scent, swiping her tongue against the silky weight of his balls, nipping softly, causing his cock to twitch impatiently. 

She pulls away, teasing, smacking her lips. “So restless...tsk tsk.” She waits for a moment, relishing the sway she holds over him. 

“I need you,” he whispers. “Don’t stop. Please.”

That’s all she requires. She pumps him with her hands again, this time sliding her entire mouth over him, not missing a beat, her gaze unflinching the whole time. As soon as she’s halfway down, she twists her palms around him upwards in a slow and sexy spiral. 

He lets out a curse. She feels too good around him. Then she moans, the vibrations enveloping his cock, making him lightheaded, the sensation is _that_ good. 

“Fuck, Tessa. What are you doing to me, you little minx?” his hands are in her hair and he’s grabbing the back of her head so he can fuck into her mouth. It’s a rhetorical question. They both know what she’s doing.

“You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?” he asks as he starts thrusting rhythmically. He doesn’t want to pressure her, but he wants to go deep. He wants his cock all the way in, down her throat. 

She garbles a satisfied moan. She can’t talk, her mouth being so preoccupied and all. But he is hard and thick between her lips and she wants him, as much as he wants her. So she swallows him whole, her nose and lips pushing into his groin and he’s _right there_ , deep in the back of her throat. 

“Holy fuck!” he exclaims, along with a few other choice terms, as she continues to take all of him, each time sliding him out of her mouth until his cock slaps noisily onto his abdomen, then seeking it again with greedy lips to repeat her excruciating tempo. She relaxes her throat so that there’s no gag reflex, aroused at how undone he already seems to be.

“Baby, your filthy mouth,” he moans. “So good. So deep.”

She can feel him shift, his toes stretching out and his balls contracting, and she’s off him immediately. 

“Uh uh,” she puts a finger on his lips, “You’re not coming until I do.”

He mumbles in complaint but he knows he’s the lucky one because she’s already moving over him to grab another condom from his bedside table. They went through quite a few last night. 

He watches her in a lusty daze. As soon as she’s rolled it over him she whispers in his ear, “I want to hear you when I ride you.” 

He growls and grabs her ass, pulling her close, only for her to push away and turn her back whilst she straddles him. 

_Reverse cowgirl_. Jesus. He’s not going to survive this. 

She’s holding him firm as she sinks down and _fuck_ if it doesn’t feel like the first time every time. She takes a moment, a whimper bursting in her throat, feeling him deep inside her, her pussy against his groin, her ass against his hips. They slot together so well, like a jigsaw.

This right here is her _paradise_. His too. 

She rakes her hair up with both hands so he gets a good glimpse of her back then shakes it all out as she drops her head back, slowly circling her hips and grinding against him. They feel so connected, so joined, she doesn’t know where he ends and she begins. 

He’s grunting low but loud enough to push her on.

Her legs are on either side of his, giving him a front row view to his metaphorical murder. Because that’s what she’s doing. 

_Killing_ him. 

Slowly. 

The moment she rises up on her knees he sees his own thickness wrapped by her sweet cunt, dripping wet with her desire. He grabs her ass to hold her in place, guide her, show her what feels good for him. But in truth, she doesn’t need help. She’s a fucking _natural_ at this.

She turns around to look at him, as she’s swirling her ass up and down his cock in slow motion. “Like what you see, cowboy?”

With his hands on her hips, he pushes her down onto him at the same time he sheathes himself into her as a reply. 

“Yeeeehaw,” he drawls. As if he even had to say it. 

She stiffens and hisses at the depth of his thrust. “Scott,” his name rolling on her tongue. “You’re so hard, baby.”

She slides up and he does it again, roughly, uttering a loud groan. 

_Again_. 

And _again_. 

They can’t stop. It’s like a drug. A slow descent into madness, except the clarity is crystalline.

It’s when the flush in her cheeks warms her breasts right to the tips of her hardened pink nipples, then and only then does she begin to speed up, chasing her orgasm, alternating between stroking him up and down, circling her hips, and smashing her pussy against his hardness. She leans forward, clutching his muscular thighs, so her clit can find the friction she needs to come, knowing the view it will afford him. 

And what a view it is. His mind can’t even process it, it’s just the visual and the visceral before him. All he can fathom is that her pussy is riding his cock, granting him entrance from the tip to the bottom of his shaft, and that she loves it, going by the moans and little cries she’s making. She’s riding him at a punishing pace, her ass quivering whenever she hits his hips, searching for release. 

So he tells her _how tight she is_ , _how good her pussy feels_ , that it’s _his_ , always _his_ , _forever his_. 

"Dammit, Tessa Jane. You're all mine," he grunts. 

He declares how his cock has never felt _so hard_ before, how _he wants to paint her with his come_ , how _he wants to explore her ass_. "I don't ever want to forget what you taste like, feel like, look like." 

She whines so he keeps going and tells her how _he wants to fuck her till she’s sore_ and how the _only thing that will salve her is his tongue gently lapping against her, eating her out_. 

This last thing is the one that tips her over the edge, feeling him deep inside her but imagining his mouth on her at the same time. She’s rocking backwards and forwards in a frenzy until her body starts to go taut over him. 

He takes over now, as she comes in explosive shudders above him, moaning breathlessly, pleading for him not to stop fucking her. He can feel her insides pulsing against his rigid cock and he has to slow himself down otherwise he’ll blow his load too. He leans her back against his chest as she comes, her legs sliding out bonelessly from beside his body to a wide opened stance, entwined with his. 

He starts to piston up into her, at first gentle, but soon fast and desperate. She’s barely recovered but he wants her to come again, this time with him, because he knows it’s going to be quick. 

“Come for me...” he demands.

His arms clasp around her waist, fingers grazing her breasts, then down to rub her clit. He’s ramming hard into her now, claiming her pussy as his, and she’s watching his cock lay her body to waste.

“Say it,” he pants. 

She’s so close, she can’t stand it. The second wave of pleasure is cresting over her, just as she gasps out the words. 

“I’m yours... _yours_. _All_ yours. _Only_ yours.” 

She’s saying more, but he can’t hear anything anymore. His body is like a storm when he comes. It’s a volley of moans, a furore of rapture, a quake of passion. They’ve come together, rhythms syncing, hearts racing, mouths finding the other.

Once they convalesce, he’s drawing circles into her skin, breathing short puffs of air into her neck, playing with her hair. After so much conversation during their vigorous lovemaking, it’s comforting to indulge in the stillness of each other’s embrace.

After a while though, Scott breaks the spell. “Tell me something,” he asks, in a raw voice. “How is it like this every damn time with you?”

She hums in pleasure, having slid over to his side so they could spoon, but still keeping him inside her. She doesn’t want to lose the feeling of him filling her up. 

Two truths and one lie. “Because we’re really bad at this. Because you’re mine,” she sighs. "And I'm yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have finally crossed the line from poetic to trashy. Do you concur? Did you like DIRTY TALK SCOTT? Comments please!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas in November? Sure, let’s go with that. Also, there might be a cheetah thrown in the mix - my homage to RookandPawn 🤣

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my readers for being so patient waiting for this update. It’s been a crazy time but I did write two chapters in between - A Little Death for #Spooktober and The Ties That Bind for my Bleeding Love series so I hope you enjoyed those.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful betas as usual, you know who you are x

They only have a short week together before Tessa leaves for Marseilles. She’s got a lot of work to do on the ice, having hit her rhythm on her programmes and wanting to make the most of the momentum. Nailing her programmes at NHK wasn’t a fluke. If anything, she trusts in her innate ability to channel her emotions and vulnerability, turning them into her strengths.

Scott is neck deep in training his other athletes as well. There are world championships, national championships, Olympic qualifiers and other international meets to prepare for, as well as new meetings, analysis and developments for his suit system - his calendar is packed. They barely see each other during the day, but the evenings bring a different rhythm.

They’re making every moment count. She’s practically moved into his apartment since she got back from Japan, only heading home to grab her clothes or do some laundry. He loves having her in his space, she’s the addition to his life that he didn’t know he needed. But right now, he can’t imagine it any other way.

Her singing off-key in his shower.

Her standing at his breakfast counter wearing nothing but one of his black v-neck tees.

Her sprawled naked across his bed with her legs parted, offering him the most sacred of secrets like a gothic version of Venus with her dark hair and equally stormy eyes.

She fits into his life like the turning of a key into a door that has been closed for so long. She fits the way his cock fills her up - deep and unrestrained.

He knows that her coming over the other night wasn’t so much about grief as it was about solace. That the sex they had was a way to express their ineffable need for each other, to make temporal the way they already felt in the abstract. And now the dam is broken, there is no holding back.

They’ve talked a little about it - their coming together, their synthesis - but haven’t overanalysed it. It’s just something they know, like a settling in the bones.

She feels the loss of him keenly when she’s in Marseilles. She’s always been a loner but this is the first time that she actually is cognisant of what loneliness means.

It’s a sharp ache at the bottom of her heart that bleeds into a type of melancholy.

And yet it also feels like there’s a joy in her sadness, knowing that solitude is bearable when you’ve come to experience the bliss of togetherness.

He wants to take some days off to join her, maybe after, but both realise they can’t make it work, not with their punishing schedules. She channels her frustrations into magic on the ice, and she wins in France by topping the scores she set at NHK despite a fall in her free, receiving 80.5 in her short dance and chalking up 192.77 in total, winning that elusive gold for the first time in her career of Grand Prix Finals.

She’s ecstatic, but even happier still to be going home. _Home_. The word takes on new meaning now. For once in her life, she might actually have someone to go home to.

It’s their first night back together and despite her fatigue she still manages to surprise him once he gets to hers with candles and rose petals strewn on the floor from the entrance leading to her bedroom. It’s her way of making up for being away and how terrible she is in the kitchen. He brings Thai takeout for their dinner but they both know that it’s not food that will be eaten tonight when she greets him at the door in a kimono she got from Japan on her last trip, taking his hand to place it beneath the silk. He might have dropped the takeout on the floor and taken her right there and then against the wall.

However exhausted she might be from the travelling, competition, jet lag and the structure of her days, there’s still enough leftover for him, even as she wants to give him more than the little pieces and remnants of herself. He’s grateful for what she can bestow, how could he not be? He’s not even sure he has a right to any of it. In return, he offers himself up whole. He doesn’t know it yet, but he replenishes her where she needs it the most.

They take more than their fill of each other with fevered touching and even more fervent words. They fuck each other with a craving so great, following a gentle rhythm up to the apogee of their shared climaxes. She wants more, _always more_ , but her days belong to her no longer. She needs to get to bed early because she’s scheduled for a round of media interviews and sponsorship projects Fey has lined up following her recent successes.

Tessa’s up even before her phone alarm sets off. Her room, one that has felt like a stranger’s for so long, because of her time away, suddenly takes on the tenor of familiarity. Is it because of Scott? The way his weight dips into the springy firmness of her bed? The way his shallow, measured breathing sounds comforting next to her in the early hours of morning? She lies in the dark contemplating the present, inhaling his scent around her. She had fallen asleep facing him, with her fingers wrapped around his cock, after he told her _this_ belonged to her and her alone.

Her fingers are there in the morning. It surprises her a little, that even in her sleep her body craves him still. And so apparently, does his. His cock is already at half mast. In the cool darkness, she wonders if it’s alright to touch him and tightens her grip a little.

He shifts slightly in her grasp, a small breath huffing out of his mouth. Her eyes have become accustomed to the dark, and all she can see is his face cloaked in peace. He looks like a study in black and white, he’s just so god damned beautiful. His cock grows harder beneath her light, butterfly-soft strokes.

If he’s not awake yet, soon he will be.

She _needs_ him. She yearns so badly for him to be inside her. It’s the only way she seems to be able to express the oceanic depths of her emotions. She hasn’t stopped wanting to since that night when he asked her to take what she needed. So she presses closer to seek communion in the angled planes of his body, hooking one leg over his hip, the only space between them created by her hand on him.

“Are you not entertained?” he grumbles sleepily, quoting one of the movies they recently watched together.

“Are you seriously complaining right now?” she whispers, bringing her lips up to graze against his.

His eyes are still closed when he answers. “Ehhh, I don’t know about you, but try sleeping with a raging hard on and see if you’re a grouch.”

She muffles a snort. “I did, I had my hands around one all night,” and she tugs on him for good measure. “You won’t find me complaining.”

“You need to quit with the attitude this morning...” he muffles a growl in her ear.

“Or what?”

She’s not prepared for how he grabs her suddenly and flips her around, face down on to the bed. She lets out a little yelp, which turns into an obscene moan, because in truth she’s already so turned on. Has been the entire night, even in her dreams.

“Or this...” he hisses as he straddles her legs and positions the tip of his cock against her wanting cunt, already soaked in expectation. His mind may not be fully awake yet but his body has certainly roused to her touch.

“Attitude is my middle name - oh _fuck_ , Sco-...” she’s turning her head to find his mouth but he’s already beginning to bury himself inside her. Her words are swallowed by the moans sticking in her throat.

Will she ever not want him this way? The sheer sensation of him parting and entering her, his heavy thickness, and the weight of his body on her back are enough to send her speedily on her way to orgasmic bliss. He’s not even wet, although she is, and it’s a rough kind of resistance that she’s been craving, one she doesn’t get when he’s wearing a condom.

 _Fuck_.

But goddammit, he feels too good for her to want him to stop. So they don’t. What he does do instead is swirl the head of his cock at her slippery opening, teasing her with it until she grabs at the flesh of his perfectly-rounded buttocks to direct him right where she wants him, needs him. He withdraws from her maddeningly slow, then begins to push himself inside her again, groaning in his rough, sleep-laced voice _how fucking wet she is, how he loves feeling her like this_ , and _can she feel how hard he is for her_? He rocks gently against her until he isn’t gentle anymore, grasping her waist and hips eagerly in order to get in deeper, nuzzling his mouth into her neck, biting and kissing her back and shoulders roughly.

The sounds of his hips slapping against her ass are punctuated by sultry _ohs_ , _ahs_ , and _mmms_. Her legs are pressed against each other with her feet crossed, making her feel extra tight in counter to his thick, velvet steel cock. This sleepy sexy fusion is easy and uncomplicated, fulfilling in so many ways she can’t even begin to explain. The way he fills her up makes her feel not just physically satiated, but occupies all the spaces in her heart that she never realised were empty before.

The sleepiness gives way to urgency as they slide in rhythm against each other with the slick of their combined desire and sweat, his hands encouraging hers to spread her ass cheeks wide. They change up their tempo and speed every so often, him thrusting slow and deep to emphasise his need to permeate every crevice of her, body and soul, then hurried and forceful when he can’t stand the ache any longer. He rolls into her in figure of eights, then finally, _finally_ starts to thrust frantically to chase her pussy into contracting around him.

They are desperate to be close but the fact that he can’t see her face and she his allows them both to concentrate on the pure pleasure of the moment. For him it’s the thrill of watching his cock plough into her body repeatedly, for her it’s the vulnerability of being taken from behind.

The ridge of his cock rubs against her G-spot on every stroke and she’s tilting her ass up to meet his thrusts so he can reach so much deeper. There’s something so raw, gritty and animalistic about this coupling that when she comes she does so powerfully in an explosive dissonance of moans babbling _it’s right there baby, I’m going to come so hard for you_ and then just the simple whimpers repeating _I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming_. He follows swiftly after, his cock pulsing, his body shuddering, voice hoarse and mind blown, before he pulls out in a mixture of euphoria and panic, realising too late the error of their ways and not caring because he’s so overwhelmed by her.

***

“Come home with me.”

 _Silly man_ , she thinks, as she stretches out on his plush and comfy sofa after dinner, her feet on his lap. She likes being at his place. The ambiance is warm and down-to-earth,much like him, as opposed to her all-white contemporary apartment. She feels like she belongs there, maybe always has. Right now the mood is festive, carols playing in the background and Christmas lights blinking on the tree they picked up together the other day. “I’m already here.”

“No, I mean my _home_ home. Ilderton. Meet my family. At Christmas.”

She freezes. It’s five days to Christmas and less than a month to the Canadian Championships but she’s ready to take a breather over the holiday season. She’s not sure if meeting Scott’s family would count as a breather.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, come back to me Miss Tessa,” he runs a finger up her calf.

She smiles a small rueful smile. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“You mean that wasn’t you panicking and thinking we’re moving too fast?”

She grimaces, then lets out a sharp, nervous laugh. How he can read her like a book is beyond mortal comprehension. “Get out of my head, Moir.”

He looks at her expectantly. He knows he shouldn’t want her this badly, but he does.

“You know how I feel about you,” she swallows thickly. _Does he though_? She hasn’t actually told him in so many words. “I just feel maybe it’s not the appropriate time...yet?” she sounds so uncertain.

“Tess...” he pulls her into his lap, putting her out of her misery and kissing her with a certainty that leaves her dizzy. “Baby, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She shakes her head, her dark waves tumbling around her shoulders.

“Remember what I told you? About just wanting to be close? I’m not going to expect more than what you can give me. I’m sorry I overstepped.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” she kisses him back tenderly. “I like that you asked me. Please keep asking me. I’ll be ready at some point.”

“Then that’s good enough for me,” he grins. He slides his arms around her and stands up, setting her down in front of him.

“Where are we going?”

He pushes his coffee table out of the way, clearing out a little space in his meticulously-kept living room. “We’re going dancing, baby!” as he grabs hold of her and dips her low.

Micheal Bublé is crooning _I’ll Be Home for Christmas_ on Scott’s vinyl record player, and just like that, he’s made her forget the anxiety she tends to feel when she gets too caught up in her own head. He twirls her around and they dance close and slow, his forehead on hers, their bodies swaying to the swell of the big band music. They dance to the whole record, sweet and tender for the slower songs, and jumping up and down to the faster songs, finally falling into a giggling heap on the floor by the end of the album.

That night they lie in bed sharing hot chocolate and Christmas stories. She tells him how she once asked Santa for a boy doll last minute and how she loved him more than the Barbie swimming pool she received that year. He tells her how he wished for a real life cheetah but got a gigantic plushie one he took for walks instead. They wonder what it would have been like had they met so young and been friends then. Shared whispers soon turn into hungry caresses, and soon the night is filled, not with secrets long kept, but the sound of open hearts and sensual longing made tangible.

It’s the best Christmas ever.

Except it isn’t Christmas yet. Scott leaves for Ilderton the next day but she still has to train for the next couple of days, or they might have flown down together. _Does an Olympic gold medallist ever rest_?

It’s not until she’s home in London with her mother, sister, brothers and their families does she realise how silly she’s being about not wanting to meet his family, because it dawns on her just how much she wants him to meet hers. It’s a 20-minute drive and that’s nothing at all, considering how far apart they’ve been from one another in the last month. Christmas with her family has been a luxury this year despite the Olympic cycle and she’s soaking up every minute of being an ordinary daughter, sister and aunt.

When the morning of Boxing Day comes around, she makes up an excuse about picking up new skates, and she’s out the door before her family can even say a word of protest. The thought of going to see him has been weighing on her mind all night, a tight knot in her stomach telling her it’s something she _has_ to do. She doesn’t know where Scott’s house is in Ilderton, but she knows he mentioned a skate shop so that’s where she starts.

It is, predictably closed, when she arrives at Moir’s Skate Shop, so she decides to take a chance at the local rink instead. It’s probably closed too, but she figures she might run into someone who knows him. She’s aware that she could just call, but she really wants to surprise him - they had promised ‘no gifts’ for Christmas, but this seems to be the perfect, if a little spontaneous, non-gift gift. She lives so much of her life by a rigid schedule, it’s liberating just to do, without thought.

Her heart sinks when she finds that the main doors for rink are locked but she isn’t so easily convinced that there isn’t anyone there because she spies a light on inside through the small glass panels on the doors. So she circles around the building until she finds the service entrance and creeps in quietly not wanting to disturb whoever’s inside.

She hears the scrape of blades against fresh ice before she sees whom they belong to. There’s a figure dressed in a black skintight suit, a helmet, and protective eye gear bent almost double, so close to the ice, speeding around on the oval track under the dim lights. He’s flying across the ice at meteoric speed, his crossovers smooth and graceful, each stroke strong and powerful, a reflection of his physique. He doesn’t stop, just keeps going, building the momentum on every straight, sliding quick on every turn. There’s something so mesmerising watching him, but also known to her.

It’s at that very moment that she latches on to the fact that she’s watching Scott speed skate.

Of course it’s him. In the months that they’ve known each other she’s seen how he’s moved on the ice. He’s brilliant and commanding, he understands the glide of the blade in a different way, and better than anyone else she’s ever seen. It’s a mastery that she’s caught herself admiring many times, and she’s feeling the same at this very moment. He could have been the GOAT if not for his injury, but watching him now, she thinks he might have it in him yet. Something makes her heart tighten, then burst with warmth. If she could overcome her insurmountable injuries, why not him? Why else was he training so hard at the gym? Why else did he create his own system if not for himself?

It’s a good half hour that she watches him, before he stands up straight and slows with his hands on his hips, starting his cool down and taking off his helmet and eye gear. His dark hair is sticking up in disarray and he’s puffing a little from the intervals, sprints and drills he had been working on. She’s made her way discretely rink side, hoping he’ll notice her without getting startled.

“I had a feeling I was being watched,” he calls out.

“Guilty as charged,” she replies, her lips curling up into a smile. She knows exactly when he would walk into a room despite not seeing him. Why did she think it was any different for him?

“Hey pretty girl,” he skates over to where she’s standing. “How long have you been scoping me out?”

“Oh, only about six months...” Up close he looks even better in his sleek skating gear, the Lycra-Kevlar combination leaving little to the imagination. Not that she needed to use it, now that she’s mapped his body from top to bottom with her eyes, hands, mouth, tongue, her entire body, really.

He slides over to grab her in a kiss but she stops him. He eyes her quizzically.

“Hang on, let me come out there.” She makes her way on to the ice in her Adidas trainers, coasting a little over the crisp surface before grasping on to his muscular forearms to keep her balance.

“Hi,” he murmurs softly into her hair. “How’d you find me?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Looks like I’m the lucky one,” he caresses her cheek, leaning in to kiss her. He doesn’t know what made her seek him out but he’s so happy she’s here.

“Want to tell me how long you’ve been doing this?” she whispers against his lips.

He pauses, then “Since I met you.” His brown eyes that look _noisette_ under the rink lights are bright. “I- I felt this fire, burn in here,” he makes a fist over his solar plexus. “Watching you, seeing what you could achieve after everything you’ve been through, it lit something up inside me.”

 _Oh_. _What does she say to that_? She nods, he doesn’t even have to justify a thing. Shecan recognise the ferocity of a competitor anywhere, let alone an Olympian. Her eyes then look down quickly as she fumbles for something in her Canada Goose coat pocket, “Thought we might need this.”

It’s a sprig of mistletoe.

A big smile breaks across his face and he kisses the hand that holds the evergreen herb, “I don’t think we need the druids to tell us what we have is magic.”

She presses her lips to his, and he’s right. Every kiss they’ve shared - including this one - is enthralling in a way she’s never felt with anyone before. The back and forth of their tongues, mouths, and lips seem to exchange secrets of the world in just a crackle of current, and back again.

The power that’s between them is more than merely pheromones, chemistry, electricity, lust. It’s a force far beyond any of those things. It may have started out as such, but somehow, in between cultivating a friendship, fighting the attraction, working together professionally at such a demanding level of excellence, and then finally giving in to the potency of their physical desires - it’s transformed into something quite profound, yet serene, all at once.

It’s magic.

Her eyes flutter open, the green of her irises lucid and clear, “Let’s go see about meeting your family then.”

He sweeps her up into another kiss, his hands splayed upon her back, gripping her so tightly it probably leaves red marks beneath her clothes, then buries his nose into her neck, the words _thank you_ marking her skin.

This might be the greatest Christmas miracle of all.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more romantic than the past three chapters. I hope you loved it just as much.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts here and on Twitter at @lapetitemort20 😘


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's meet the fam time, Rom-Com Moir makes an appearance, and so does DirtyTalk!Tessa... lots happening here folks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute, I know, but real life. Luckily we've had so much content from RTR! 
> 
> Thank you as always to RookandPawn for her beta help and encouragement x

He almost can’t hear above the surging euphoria of the crowds. It’s only practice session but it’s the most anticipated figure skating event in Canada - Nationals. Tessa is going into this as the favourite despite not competing in the last two seasons, but so far she’s done nothing but dominate her field this year.

She’s sublime. Untouchable. 

He feels unbelievable pride at this fact. Not because he’s a part of the team that’s been involved in her comeback, but because the magic is all hers. As part of his work he’s watched every single one of her programmes since she hit Seniors, in High Definition no less. He sees the progression of mastery throughout the years, but what is consistent is the absolute dedication to her craft and its process - how she’s shown up through the highs and lows, how she’s done the work whether it resulted in success or failure, letting her skating and artistry speak for itself. 

It’s not a soft murmur. It’s a definite shout, that Tessa Virtue is here, and she’s ready to kick some serious ass. 

But there’s also another reason his heart is bursting. It might be the more important reason.

It’s the fact that it’s _his girl_ down there on the ice. He wants to shout it out for the world to know, except they’ve decided not to share it just yet. So he keeps their secret in his heart like a precious jewel to be presented when the moment is right. For now though, it’s theirs and theirs alone.

It happened when she met his family on Boxing Day. He knew it had been a big leap for her, but when she showed up unexpectedly in Ilderton, he understood what it meant. She was telling him in not so many words that she wanted to be with him, to be a part of his life, and to have him in hers. She wanted them to exist outside of the bubble they had created in Montreal. He knows it hasn’t been long, that maybe she was right about them moving so quickly, but somehow it just felt right. 

“Mom,” he had called out, stomping the crisp snow that had fallen just that evening from off his shoes on the doormat outside the front door. “We have a guest!”

The blast of warmth and raucous laughter from the Moir house immediately wrapped Tessa in a toasty cocoon as she stepped inside tentatively. Her cheeks reddened less from the heat and more from the frisson of being there. 

“Hey,” Scott slipped his fingers through hers.

She glanced at him anxiously.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. They’re going to love you.” He winked, but didn’t add the _Like I do_ he was thinking.

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do,” he had pulled her hand, placing it over his heart. “Do you trust me?”

“From the first moment,” she smiled, and cringed a little at the memory. What had she been thinking, leading a perfect stranger into Jordan’s apartment just because she had been horny? She could have been killed.

“Can I ask you to trust me a little more?” he scrunched up his face and made puppy eyes at her.

She wanted to kiss his ridiculously stupid, perfect face. He knew exactly how to bring her back to the moment, without dodging the big issues. 

“Lead the way and I’ll follow,” she wrapped her fingers a little tighter in his and laughed her deep belly laugh, sending a thrill through his body at how his wish had become a reality.

He was right, of course. His family loved her and she loved them back. The reticence she felt in the beginning was shaken off after the metaphorical ice breaking - the knowing looks passed around the dinner table and highly inappropriate banter courtesy of Scott’s brothers. Instead of feeling uncomfortable, she dived right into their inside jokes and teasing, as if she belonged right there, had always belonged. 

“She’s a keeper, son,” his father had commented much later, in the privacy of the kitchen, when they helped clear the table and placed the dishes clattering into the sink. Tessa was out in the living room regaling Charlie and Danny’s kids with some of her axel prep warmups, whilst the adults had watched, suitably impressed.

He nodded, and turned to look at his mother.

She hadn’t needed to say anything. Alma Moir was a woman of few words, but when she said something it counted. Even more fascinating was her ability to say something without words. Everything you would ever need to know could be found in her expressive eyes, and right then they had teared up mistily.

“Alright then. Good chat,” he grinned in jest, hiding a lump in his throat. In reality, their opinion meant the world to him. Especially since they’d never thought any girl could measure up to him. 

But this was no ordinary girl. This was Tessa. And like she did on ice, she just blew everyone away.

The way she’s doing right now, even in practice. 

This is what he admires the most about her - that she takes every opportunity as a moment to excel. It’s what separates her from the others in her field. Where others practice, she is already performing. She’s committing 200 per cent to each and every one of her performances. Her confidence comes from being the best in the country, if not the world, backed up by decades of experience, data and sheer iron will to become peerless. There’s no room for any doubt, not on the ice at least. 

He may not have known her during her battle with Compartment Syndrome, or the aftermath of her operations, having to relearn how to walk, let alone skate. He didn’t know her when her world came crumbling down at the absolute devastation that was silver in Sochi. He didn’t know what went through her mind when she made the heartbreaking decision to step away from the sport that had turned its back on her.

But he knows her now. She’s opened her heart to him, allowed him to access the cracks and crevasses where she’s vulnerable and exposed. The grace in which she has risen above, and come out of it all relatively intact, yet vast and wholly brilliant takes his breath away. It’s what spurred him on to try again at his own discipline. She deserves that much. 

He wants to be worthy of her. 

So when he slipped a little box into her palm while saying goodbye at her car, he felt as if he might throw up. It wasn’t like he was asking her the world, but he knew that was ultimately what he would want. Would she balk and run? She’d met him every step so far despite her initial hesitation. 

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts?” she eyed him suspiciously. 

“You brought mistletoe,” he cracked. “And besides, you kind of gave me the best gift by coming out here and meeting my family. I think they’re in love with you.”

“Only them?” she lifted her eyes to him then, questioning. 

He didn’t answer. They hadn’t said the L word yet. What could he say that wouldn’t answer a million ways what he felt about her? He nudged the small box in her hands. “Open it.”

Her fingers trembled a little, but it could have been the cold. When she opened the box, she found a velvet pouch. In it was a delicate silver ring, stamped with the words _Dream_ , _Strength_ , and _Balance_. She slipped it onto the middle finger on her left hand immediately. 

“So you like it?” he asked hopefully, relieved that the size fit. He had gotten it engraved especially for her. 

She nods, hardly trusting her voice. 

“I know this is probably straight out of a rom-com, but will you be my girl?” he had asked, a shyness taking over. 

Her heart was so full, she could barely speak. Not just from his gift, but the entire evening with his family. She felt she knew him now, _really_ knew him. His heart, that came from his father, the vulnerability that came from his mother, the sense of humour and humility that came from his two brothers. But the passion in which he did and expressed all things was him, entirely him. And the warmth in which he and his family had welcomed her felt so easy. She couldn’t help feeling anything but loved. 

There was a clarity in the air that came from the chill, but there was also a sense of purity, as if they were standing at the edge of something significant. It was the minutiae, there were no grand gestures, there was just something so ordinary and simple in the action of just-a-boy walking just-a-girl to her car. 

But _this_ , this was what she had been yearning for for so long. To be normal, to find beauty in the quotidian. Except she knew this feeling, this connection, did not come by every day. And not to just anyone either. This was singular. Exceptional. 

So instead of words of gratitude and love, _yes love_ , even if she couldn’t say it yet, she poured everything she felt into her kiss. And he responded in kind under that clear night sky and luminous stars above. 

***

He sees her look up at him in the stands from centre ice. Her group practice session is over, it’s showtime and she’s the last to go. Her music’s just about to begin and she’s in her starting position. She sends a wink his way just before the riffs of Prince’s ‘Kiss’ come on. He’s watched her dance this a hundred times, yet he can’t help but marvel at how she drips sass and oozes sex every single instance, as if it’s inherent in her very being.

She might be skating the best ever in her career. There’s an ease and musicality to it that she’s never had before, perhaps because she’s never been this technically sound. Her speed, the forwardness on her skates, her precision in her elements - it’s all coming together, packaged with flair and style. She’s going hard, in all her flirty and fun ways. The judges don’t stand a chance. He knows what it feels like to be at the end of that stick. 

He thinks back to when she surprised him by asking him to come meet her family and friends at New Year’s Eve. He hadn’t expected her to, but when had she ever done anything by the book? He turned up bearing a stunning winter bouquet for her mother and charmed even the cutting tongue of Tessa’s sister Jordan by making her laugh all night. He hadn’t anticipated the buzzing atmosphere of a full on New Year’s Eve party, but apparently Kate’s annual festivities were legendary. He was glad that he’d made an effort to dress up, even if it was just a simple black Henley with a deep V and sleek matching trousers. 

When he wasn’t chatting to the other guests, he was watching Tessa. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Observing her outside of skating was as fascinating as bearing witness to her finesse on the ice. The main reason for it was that she was wearing a knockout electric blue turtleneck dress featuring a _very_ revealing back and side cutout, complete with a wrap skirt detail that was slashed right up to her thigh. 

It made him feel things. Lots of things. 

The other reason was the way she made every single person she spoke to feel special just by giving them her full attention. He understood how he didn’t have a hope in hell once she had set her sights on him. Nobody could. 

“Enjoying the party?” she had murmured in his ear after crossing the living room to where he was leaning against the doorframe. 

“Mhmmmm.”

“That much, huh?” she ran one hand down his well-defined chest, across the flat of his abs and grazed his groin quick as lightning. 

He almost yelped, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he hissed, worried someone might have seen.

“My friends are calling you ‘Scottyconda’,” she had giggled under her breath. She was tipsy, not because she had been drinking a lot but because what little champagne she had went straight to her head. She hadn’t had a drink since they went on their non-date a few months ago, but it was New Year’s Eve and she wasn’t about to let a little thing like an Olympic gold medal stop her from celebrating a little.

But her friends were right, he had been half hard all night being close but not able to touch her. They hadn’t been together intimately since they left Montreal for the holidays and his body was already going insane.

“Oh yeah? And why is that?” there was a smug smile on his lips and a flirty raise of an eyebrow. 

It had been close to midnight and they were watching the merrymaking unfurl around them. They spoke low enough so nobody could hear them, like they were sharing an intimate secret, which in a way they were. “Your trousers don’t leave much to the imagination. You’re creating quite the impression.”

He eyed her up and down, gripping her waist tightly where the cutout revealed her pale skin dotted with freckles, slipping two fingers beneath the slinky material to stroke her there. “You’re one to talk. How do you expect me to behave when you’re prancing around in _that_?”

“Oh, this thing?” she purred demurely. “At least it keeps me strategically covered. Unlike your ‘Brick Dick’.”

He turned his body to face her, his eyes rolling as he laughed softly. “That sounds kind of painful. You need to find new friends. Ones that aren’t perverts.” 

“There’s that,” she considered. “Or I could...just take care of the problem.” 

He’d already pulled her close, one arm gripped possessively at the back of her elbow, their foreheads touching. “Who says it’s a problem?”

“Well I’m not wearing any underwear,” she whispered wickedly. 

_Fuck_. His cock had practically jumped to attention at her words. She was naked under that dress. “Now that _is_ going to be a problem if I’m not inside you within the next two minutes,” his voice catching over a surge of unadulterated desire. 

“That’s what I thought. Second door to the left,” and she slid one hand down his ass, cupped it before giving it a squeeze as she twirled around to hurry upstairs. 

She grabbed him by the hand as soon as he had made his way discreetly upstairs, pulling him into a small, dark space. Her hands were in his hair, their mouths smashed against each other in a desperate union, hips pushing and grinding. 

“Tess, wait,” he panted, his vision adjusting to the darkness. “This is a linen closet!” 

She laughed against his neck where his triangular constellation of moles lay, even as one of her legs snaked up around his hip, her high heeled foot curled at the back of his thigh. “It’s exactly the last place they’d look for us!”

“There’s not even a lock on this door.”

She made an impatient noise. “Do you want to fuck me or not?” 

“God, yes. I haven’t thought of anything else this past week,” he grabbed her ponytail and tugged it brusquely, kissing her full on the mouth, wanting to take his time but knowing that this urgency needed to be met, and quick. 

“Did you think about this?” she guided his fingers into her lust-soaked pussy. She really had been bare beneath. “Because I have. Every. Minute. Of. Every. Day,” she punctuated as she fucked herself with his fingers. 

He pulled his two fingers out and sucked at them. _Fuck_ , she seemed to be extra wet and tasted divine. “Yes. And this. Licking you clean.”

He moved to drop onto his knees to worship her pussy but she pulled him up roughly. “No time. I want what’s mine.”

_Hers_. He answered by pushing her against the wall whilst she traced the outline of his generous bulge through his stretchy trouser material. Both their breathing had become uneven and ragged. His stiff cock, which had had so much trouble staying concealed, sprung into her hands as she unzipped his trousers and pulled down his boxer briefs with rabid urgency. Free at last, it found itself at the entrance of its home as Scott hiked her dress up around her waist with impatient hands, hooked her thighs with his forearms, and brought her down swiftly onto him. The sudden heat, slick and hardness that surrounded them both drew hisses and groans before they remembered they needed to be quick and quiet. 

But Tessa did not want to be mute nor fast. It seemed the mere fact that someone could find or overhear them made her even more excited. She stifled a cry against his ear as he fucked up into her with purpose, lifting her ass up and down so he could help her ride him. “I missed you so god damned much. I missed your cock. I miss fucking you like this,” she babbled obscenely. 

“Shhhhh, Tess, baby...someone’s going to hear us,” he kissed her hard to swallow her low pitched mewling.

“I don’t give a fuck,” she moaned fiercely, looking him right in the eyes. “I want them all to know I’m getting fucked so good.”

Goddammit, it had been ten days without each other and the woman was a slut for him. And honestly, when she put it that way, what the hell could he do but fulfil her request? 

“Everyone thinks you’re so good and innocent, but you’re just fucking dirty, aren’t you?” he pushed into her furious and deep with every thrust, with her growling _yes_ at the increasing rhythm of his onslaught. 

“Is this what you wanted? The snake?” he teased, as he drove into her harder, faster. “Are you going to tell your friends how hard it is?”

“So hard, baby. So good. You fuck me so good, Scott,” she was bouncing erratically on him then, her breathy moans uncontrollable. 

Her wrecked voice kept him bucking, unyielding against her and it didn’t take very long before he felt her walls contract vigorously around him, her head thrown back, mouth parted as she gasped his name over the cacophony of the countdown taking place downstairs. She’d never come this quick before. Moments later he spilled himself against her pussy, rocking his hips in awkward jerks, cock pulsing in his hand, trousers around his muscular thighs. 

“Happy New Year, Tess,” he managed to gulp, his forehead on her shoulder, hair in disarray and catching his breath. She slid down his body, still tense from the waves that overcame her, whimpering a little from her sensitivity. 

If not for the flush in her cheeks, he could never have told she’d just had the hottest quickie of her life. She was still immaculate from her waist up, other than the fact that she was swirling the come from her pussy with her fingers, spreading it together with his circling her sensitive clit, dipping into the throbbing folds of her pussy, and wiping it off against her inner thighs. 

She lifted her fingers to her lips and sucked them one by one, mirroring his earlier actions. “Happy New Year, Scott,” she punctuated between each dainty slurp, then kissed him so he could taste them both. 

_Holy fuck_ , the way she continued to tease him, he never wanted to come out of that linen closet. 

But come out they had to, and after cleaning up quickly thanks to some conveniently placed hand towels, they were able to sneak back to join the revelry without being missed. They deserved a fucking standing ovation for that little performance. 

Just the way she did now. Her programme was clean, but more than anything, it was full of heat, passion and swagger. There’s no way the judges would place her anywhere other than first. When she receives her marks, more than a full five points above the last leader, the crowd gets to their feet and gives her another standing ovation. 

Scott is so damned proud of her, putting his fingers in his mouth to let out a deafening whistle of appreciation. He wants to sweep her into his arms and twirl her around until she’s dizzy, but that celebration will have to happen later. 

Afterwards, they share sweet, chaste kisses in the privacy of her nondescript hotel room and he stays with her until she falls asleep from a mixture of joy and exhaustion. He’s taken to leaving little hidden handwritten notes for her to find when she’s away for competitions, and this time is no different. He can’t take time off work so he writes another in lieu of watching her Free Dance tomorrow. 

_I can’t wait to see you fly. Go get ‘em, baby!_

_Love, Scott_

This was the first time he’d used the word. She knows it’s not _the_ three words, she doesn’t want to admit she’s been waiting to hear, but it’s everything she didn’t think she could have hoped for. It’s enough to give her wings. 

The next day she wins the Nationals for the 7th time in her career with record-breaking points, leaving no doubt as to who Canada’s reigning queen of figure skating is. 

Next stop, South Korea and world domination. 

***

She’s been riding high from her undefeated season so far. She’s training well, in the best physical shape she’s ever been, her mental focus as sharp as a tack. It also doesn’t hurt that she’s emotionally and sexually fulfilled. _What could possibly go wrong_?

Turns out, there is the _one_ thing. 

She’s late. Her cycle usually runs like clockwork but she’d forgotten her pills a couple of times in the last month and they hadn’t exactly been very careful before Christmas and then that hot-as-fuck quickie on New Year’s Eve. They’d had sex plenty since then, except at Nationals, making up for lost time when they’d been apart for the holidays, but Scott had been adamant on using condoms every time after that. She wasn’t late by much but still, two days felt a little like cause for concern. She shouldn’t have been this careless even though she had run into the pharmacy for a morning after pill after both incidents. 

It’s fine. She’s fine. This wasn’t her first rodeo. 

Except now a little wave of panic is rising inside her. Four Continents is coming up in February and World’s is just around the corner in March. Not to mention the Olympics a year from now. This is not the time to get pregnant. She couldn’t sacrifice gold for this, could she? And more importantly, would she want to?

Rather than jump to conclusions, Tessa takes a deep breath, something she learnt from her yoga practice. In through one side of the nostril, inhale for four counts, hold another four, then exhale through the other nostril for five counts. And repeat. It calms her somewhat. She’s a big girl, she can handle it. There’s no need to panic, _we’ll cross that bridge when we get there_ , she convinces herself. 

But right that instance there isn’t a ‘we’. Scott’s away for one of his athlete’s meets, then there’s a speed skating qualifier he’s signed up for through his club. There’s barely any time for them to deal with _this_ before she leaves for Seoul in two weeks. 

It feels like fate is hurtling towards her like a freight train and she’s paralysed in its tracks. 

She knows she should call him straight away but she doesn't want to give him more questions than she has answers. If she _is_ pregnant, and it’s a big IF, maybe then they’ll talk, but she already knows what her decision will be. And if she isn’t, well, it’s not something she needs to concern him with. 

Either way, it’s her decision. 

He finds her distant and a little preoccupied when he gets back from Boston and Vancouver a week later. So much has happened on his end; he’s managed to get funding from an investor for his exoskeleton system, his athlete placed top five, and so did he in his first amateur outing back in the speed skating arena. He’s so buoyed by his achievements and the good news that at first he doesn’t notice her sombre mood. 

“You okay, babe?” he asks as he sits next to her on her pristine white sofa. She’s hardly said a thing, wrapped up in silence and the grey cashmere blanket she keeps in her den, fluffy bunny slippers on her feet. “I realise I haven’t stopped talking about me. What’s going on with you?”

A single tear slips down her cheek. It looks like she’s trying to hold it all in but she says nothing. She just wraps her arms around her body. 

Her silence and barely contained sadness alarms him. Whatever it is, they’ve always been able to talk it out since the beginning. Even if it’s only been three months since they’d taken their relationship to the next level with the physical aspect, he knows deep down that they could get through anything, as long as they kept talking. 

He slides his pinky through her fingers. “Talk to me, T.”

She sniffs and shakes her head. But then she crawls into his arms and holds on for dear life. She doesn’t sob, not like she did the last time. She’s quiet in his lap, and this might scare him more. 

He waits for her to speak. When she doesn’t, he tips her chin up with a finger, looking into her depths of green. The tears threaten to spill over her eyelashes when he closes in to kiss her, but she evades his lips. 

“Whatever it is...” he whispers, his forehead against hers. 

There’s a long pause before her voice cracks, her lips trembling. “I was late.”

He looks back up to her, questioning, and then the realisation of what they might be talking about dawns on him. 

“Tess. Are you...?”

Now that she’s started she can’t stop. She’s had a few days to process everything and she’s calm even if the emotion still affects her. “I didn’t get my period after Nationals. We haven’t been very careful, but I thought I took enough precautions. I’m on the pill and I took morning after pills both times the next day.”

He takes a deep breath in, shakes his head and buries it in his hands, the heels of his palms digging into his sockets. He feels terrible, this should have been _his_ responsibility. Not her burden alone. But whatever he’s feeling can’t even compare to what she’s had to go through this past week carrying this weight on her own. 

He looks up and takes both her hands in his. “This is on me. Tell me what you want to do. Whatever you decide, I’m here. We can get through this.”

She bites her lip. “There isn’t anything _to_ do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I took a home test, and a blood test after, just to be sure,” she carries on. “I was terrified. I wanted you to be there but I had to know.”

He pulls her close again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we’re in this position to begin with. I’m sorry you had to go through this alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry, so sorry, baby,” he croaks against her temple, his thumb caressing her neck. 

“I...it was negative,” she breathes out, all the doubt and uncertainty expelled in an instant. Saying it now made it real. She hadn’t been sure how he would take it, but his reaction doesn’t surprise her at all. 

His face shows relief and he looks like he’s about to say something but she cuts him off. 

“I thought it might have been positive. To be honest, I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed,” she allows herself a tiny smile. “That’s why I’m crying. I really don’t know how I feel.”

“Tess, I...”

“No, wait. Let me finish...please,” she shushes him with her fingers on his lips. 

“Being pregnant right now would be the biggest disaster. For me. My career. My last Olympic gold. And god knows what decision I would have made if that test result was different. But it wasn’t, and I’m thankful,” she squeezes his hands, her eyes getting a little misty. “But it also leaves a little ache in me, because I realise now it’s something that I _do_ want. In the future.”

He nods, feeling a little teary himself. He’s not sure she’s finished saying what she needs to say. 

“With you,” she says so quietly, he’s not even sure she said it. “And I don’t know if that’s what you want eventually but- ” she rambles on, wringing her hands. 

This time he does kiss her. He kisses her whole, with such a profundity that winds her lungs, takes her apart and puts her back together again. Whatever that test result had been, he would have been by her side no matter the case. He would have loved her to be pregnant, but not at the cost of her dream. He’s wanted to be a parent for as long as he could remember, but he knew that it wasn’t particularly the case for her, she had mentioned it in passing during one of their many conversations in the car. But hearing those words tumble from her lips now gives him so much hope. 

This was it. She _is_ it. 

She tries to say something now, anything, to ask him how he’s feeling, but it’s his turn to interrupt. 

“I love you,” he blurts out, his fingers touching her hair as if she was the most precious thing. “With my whole heart. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the light that guides me home. I don’t think there’s anything I couldn’t do when you’re here with me. I hope you feel that way about me too.”

She supposes she really did want to hear those three words from Scott after all. But what surprises her the most is that she’s been wanting to say the same this entire time. So she does, many times over as they kiss to mark this tender moment, one that’s just theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought I was going to go for max angst, didn't you??? Well, I hope you liked this resolution instead. Thoughts please in comments and Twitter.
> 
> I think #GymFic might be nearing its end though...so thank you to all of you who have loved this story, from its initial smut crack one-shot to the epic fluffy romance it has become.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Valentine’s Day...do I really need a plot? 
> 
> Or in which our #Gymfic couple work out some kinks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried. I really did. By this I mean, I tried to line myself up to complete the quad that is WalkinRobe, MyCatCanWrite and RookandPawn on AO3, but somebody beat me to it. So I guess it isn’t meant to be.
> 
> First of all it’s been forever, but thank you for sticking with me. Secondly, it’s Valentine’s Day so I figured all you lovers deserve some loving. 
> 
> Which brings me to the third point. There is no plot. Only smut. So...do with that what you will. It doesn’t have to make sense okay?!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this x
> 
> Thank you to RookandPawn for her infinite patience and generosity.

It turns out that saying I love you is, in the same moment, the easiest and the most complicated thing she’s ever done. She doesn’t regret it, not one bit, because she’s never wanted anything more. Other than gold, the feeling of being seen, accepted and loved as she truly is, it’s everything she’s ever dreamt of.

There’s a tenderness in him that wasn’t there before. Since they’ve confessed how they truly feel for each other, everything’s taken on an air of sweetness.

It’s in his touch, the purpose in his fingers, even as he lightly skims the surface of her skin. It’s in his gaze, the way the crinkles of his eyes reveal an ease in knowing he loves and is loved in return. It’s in his words, the way the grittiness of his voice softens when he says those three words, over and over again to her, as if now that he’s allowed to say them, he never wants to stop.

When she says it back to him, she feels the weight of them. Sweet like honey, but thick and pure. She hasn’t said these words in such a long time, not since her first love, and it feels different.

It feels mature. Ready. Seasoned.

It’s perfect, of course. Except for the fact that he won’t fuck her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, after he’s gone down on her for the third time in half as many days, but won’t give her what she wants.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to beg?”

“Well...” he thinks of how much he loves it when she’s pleading him to take her, how he hardens at the raw desperation in her voice.

She really doesn’t want to argue. Not after he’s tasted her, dipped his honeyed tongue into her, made her body sing. But she wants so much more, and her frustration is making her testy.“You’re treating me like I’m delicate.”

“Baby, I just made you come with my mouth,” he smirks. “I don’t think that counts as delicate.”

“Yet you won’t fuck me.”

 _Goddamn_. She gets to the point. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

She slides down between his legs, wrapping her fingers firmly around his twitching cock. The wetness leaking at his tip gives him away. Much like the way he involuntarily pushes his body into her hands. “Don’t you want me?” she asks, teeth nipping along his taut girth, her mouth gliding over him, saliva getting him even more slick. 

He slams his eyes shut. “Jesus, Tess. All I want is you.”

She stops her teasing for a minute, his cock slippery in between her hands. “But you’ve backed off. I don’t know what it is, but I think you’re scared.”

He scrambles to sit up. It isn’t really the best time to have this conversation while fucking her mouth. She’s right, he _is_ scared. “Aren’t you?” 

Then she sits up too and says the most surprising thing. “I’m terrified.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I think I asked you first.”

“It wasn’t really a question,” he points out.

 _Really? At a time like this, he’s going to be pedantic?_ She raises her eyebrows.

“The scare. The gold. The fact that I love you and you love me. The fact that we can’t tell anyone. I hate hiding that we’re an ‘us’. I keep thinking I’m going to slip up and everything will explode in our faces.” _What more reasons does he need to add?_

“The only thing I want exploding...is you. Inside me,” she says savagely. Crudely, even. She tries to dip her head back down to engulf him in her mouth but his hands stay her. She doesn’t really mean it, but she’s a little mad at him for denying her. She knows better of course, considering the events that have led them here and her goal of winning at PyeongChang.

“No, Tessa. Not after what happened,” he shakes his head emphatically. He wants her, so bad, the way he’s done from the first moment they laid eyes on each other, even more so now that he’s in love with her.

But that’s the gist of it. He wants to please her every which way he can, but he won’t risk her getting hurt, either by design or chance.

“You know there is such a thing as condoms,” she huffs.

“We aren’t very good at using them.”

“So what are you saying? Abstinence? For a whole year?” her voice goes up an octave.

 _Fuck_. He hasn’t thought that far ahead. Of course condoms are an option. They’ve worked so far, when they remember to use them. And she’s on the pill too, but look where that got them the last time. The trouble with Tessa is that she feels so god damn good without. She also feels fucking amazing with, but he gets a feeling her kink is him coming inside her the way she grips her thighs around his ass, unwilling to release him, grinding against him instead, as if to feel every pulse and twitch of his cock, every shuddering spasm, every single jerk of his hips.

When he doesn’t answer she flutters her fingers up and down his erection. He’s still impossibly hard, his thick shaft pressing into her palms of its own volition. “Let me take care of you, baby,” she murmurs, her mouth so close to the tip of his cock he can feel the heat of her breath.

He closes his eyes again and groans, low and guttural, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle.

“I love that sound,” she whispers into the smooth velvet of his skin. He smells gloriously musky, divine almost. She takes a deep inhalation of his virile scent, before flicking her tongue to lick him there. “I want to hear you.”

It’s another of her kinks. Listening to him moan out in pleasure makes her wet beyond belief. Him talking dirty, telling her how he feels and what he wants stokes her desire to possess him even more.

He grits out her name, in a broken sort of way. It’s a promise of thorough vanquish, of him yielding entirely to her. It’s been days of him trying to be good, holding himself back, unwilling to enter her, lest his body betrays them both. It’s irrational he knows, but loving her and wanting the best for her means denying himself in some misguided way.

But he can’t be good any longer. He doesn’t want to. What he wants...is total and utter surrender.

His.

Hers.

Both. It doesn’t matter.

And so he lifts his hips up to meet her mouth, at the same time grasping a fistful of her hair with a sharp tug. She flickers her eyes up to his in surprise as the teasing and playful sucking turns into a unexpected, but not unwelcome, mouthful of cock. The shift of energy, the magnetic push and pull between them—it’s the essence that makes her fall to her knees, the sheer power of it leaving her breathless.

He fucks into her mouth, this time without hesitation. He’s missed her perfect mouth wrapped around him, taking his length with her sultry, slippery, slick skills.

She gags a little from his urgent and deliberate thrusting, making a tunnel with her fingers around the base of his cock so she can gulp in some air, the lines of saliva and spit stretching from her lips to his tumescent tip.

She loves this.

It’s obscene, the way he wants her, indecent. The way his hands enfold her head, firm, guiding her to him, as if she didn’t already know her way home.

“Sorry,” he gasps, but he isn’t really, as he drives himself into her mouth even harder. She wants indelicate? He’s going to push her all the way.

It’s exactly the way she wants him.

She’s already come once from his tongue, so she’s in no hurry. In fact, the languor she feels is the same one she wants him to experience. She knows he’s been so tense, even if she didn’t understand why, his nerves strung up tight as a bow, the way she’s playing him now similar to an archer stretching the tension of the string before the arrow is released.

She pulls off him with a delicious pop, her wet, sloppy mouth changing its focus onto his balls, sucking him off slowly while her hands massage the column of his cock, twisting tight around the pink, swollen head.

Up and down.

She kneads and squeezes.

She’s giving him the pressure he needs, the way he showed her, taking the moans and grunts that issue from his mouth as indication of how well she’s pleasuring him.

“Do you want me?” she repeats, her words reverberating against his groin.

He moans again.

“Say it, baby,” she drags out his self-inflicted torment.

He knows what she wants. His voice. His words. Laced in desire, without thought, only need. She wants him to lose himself the way she does, the way he makes her.

“Yes,” he pleads. “Yes, I want you. Fuck Tess, I need you.”

She needs him too. They’ve been apart for longer, but not like this. She can’t bear the thought of him denying her any more. It’s like a drug, his cock filling her up. The physical manifestation of an emotional need.

He feels the loss of her bodily warmth for just a moment before she’s back straddling him. Before he can even open his eyes to check on her, the heat of her tongue is on him again, the brush of her hair against his skin, her thrumming moans exciting him. It’s an assault upon his senses. He might come right this instant if he could, but he wants to make this last, to be buried deep inside her, to feel her moving on top of him, devouring his cock with her silken sheath.

“Put the fucking condom on,” he snarls, partly in desperation, partly in frustration that he isn’t able to withstand temptation. 

He hears her tear the packet with her teeth, and then feels the smooth, thin lubricated latex rolling over his throbbing length. She slicks her saliva onto a palm, sliding it against him, making sure he’s wet enough for her entrance.

“Don’t need that—” he says as he grips her hips, guiding her slowly but surely down onto his stiff cock. “—do you, baby?”

He knows her so well. She’s more than wet enough for the both of them. She’s soaked, dripping between her legs, her anticipation smeared against her thighs. Her body writhes as her pelvis hits flush against his.

“No,” she manages to sob out. “Just this. You.”

He feels so incredibly deep inside her, with her on top. She stays unmoving for a long moment so he can enjoy the sensation of her tight cunt wrapped around him.

She clenches her muscles. Once, twice. Three time’s the charm when he sucks in his breath, unable to stay still any longer, rolling his hips up to meet hers in a desperate motion, willing her to move above him.

“Yeah?” she questions, in a low whine, one palm splayed on his chest, the other sliding down his cut lines of his abs. There’s a mole there that she loves to kiss, just before the trail of hair disappears down to the root of his thickness.

His gaze breaks away from the storm roiling in her eyes down to where he’s parted her, to where they are joined. He licks his lips and looks back up at her. “Yes...”

So she begins to roll small circles with her hips, grinding down on him, stimulating her clit. She whimpers from the sensation, swearing softly at how hard he feels inside her.

“So good, baby, you feel so good,” he urges her on. It’s true. Even with the translucent barrier between them, she feels out of this world. Her spongy softness surrounds him, his rigidity fully settled within her. Their slow sultry rhythm spirals when she lifts herself up and down to bounce on him, feet resting on the wide spread of his thighs for leverage, her slippery heat making their slip and slide easy, wanton.

With fingers digging into the flesh of her back, he pulls her forward so he can suck at her hardened nipples, tongue fluttering, rolling, teeth grazing, nipping. Another kink, she loves being bitten on her breasts when he’s fucking her.

“Give it to me,” she growls.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice, kissing her mouth hard, the one that smiles innocently to the outside world, yet brims with vulgarity only for him. His knees bend so the movement pitches her towards him, leaving her pussy ready to be fucked and filled. Over and over he drives — hard, slow, quick, gentle — his hips taking a life of its own, their bodies slapping against the other. The ceaseless contact against her clit makes her cry out hard; _yes_ , she moans, _yes yes yes, just like that, yes, don’t ever stop_.

He can tell that she’s going to come again before she even voices it. He knows her now, more than just the way her body shudders. It’s in the way she sits up suddenly against his hips, circling down on to him, her back arching, her glossy hair parting across her face to reveal the bliss in her expression.

It’s overwhelming, feeling her begin to fall apart around him. She rolls her head back, riding the waves of her pleasure to the surging rhythm of his undulating hips.

“Look at me,” he demands. “Look at me when you come.”

If they weren’t already so far gone and so deeply rooted in each other, she might have been self-conscious. As it is, she pays no heed. She hasn’t since the first moment he touched her, how can she when he makes her feel sexy as hell? All she knows is that he sees her, naked and true.

Her eyes lock on to his, and she unleashes a hail of breathy moans, “Baby...oh fuck...I’m coming...please...fuck me...I’m...can you feel me?”

The question is how can he not. Her body is strung taut, before her release — a reckless and intemperate storm. Beads of sweat roll down her lithe body, her cunt a-tremor, a rush of liquid all over his cock. She’s wet, so wet, and so is he. He thinks she might have squirted — the surprise on her face confirms it.

He’s pushing into her, slower now, riding the ripples of her orgasm, when she breaks into a voluptuous laugh.

“God, baby...that’s never happened before, well, not with anyone else,” she murmurs, trying to align her body with her thoughts. “Thank you.”

He’s smug against her kiss, he’s never made any woman come that hard before. He’s feeling very pleased with himself, but more than anything, it’s a first for both of them, which feels really special. “Yeah?”

“Fuck, yes,” she moans into his mouth, their eyes closed, just taking in the moment. Their rhythm slows down to a gentle rocking before she whispers, “You make me feel so good. How do you do that?”

He kisses her tenderly. “I love you. You deserve everything that’s good in the world.”

He’s hard in her still, and she realises he hasn’t come yet. “Let me taste you,” she makes a move to slip off him.

He holds her close. “No, stay here for a bit. I just want to feel you.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” she leans back to look at him. “Besides, I love you in my mouth.”

He snorts at that understatement, as he traces his fingers in light circles up and down her body. Her senses are heightened from her climax, and she feels every touch, every breath against her skin. “This. Right here. This is where I feel good. With you. Not just inside you, though that’s fucking amazing.”

“Mmm, keep going,” as she drags her fingernails through his hair.

He sucks on her bottom lip, sensual and slow. “Oh, I plan to. Just giving you a second to catch your breath. You’re going to need it.”

He gives her a little thrust. She can’t help but groan out.

“Poor baby...are you sore?” he teases.

She shakes her head stubbornly, her long waves skimming the tops of her breasts. But she will be, once he’s through with her.

When her breathing finally calms, she dismounts and positions herself between his legs. He’s still hard and glistening from her juices, but she makes quick work of taking off the condom. Her expert tongue laps him up, slurping, sucking.

His eyes roll back and he bites back a curse. Goddamn, her mouth feels profane. And he wants more. Maybe the most unholy things, but he doesn’t care now. So he pulls her back up roughly and turns her around, splaying her across her bed. He kisses her back, her waist, the curve where her buttocks meets the backs of her thighs before he plunges his face into the delicious trifecta that is her clit, pussy and ass.

She’s still wet from before, but now with his mouth devouring her, she’s dripping in saliva and desire. Her moans are muffled against the down of her duvet but he feels her push against his nose and mouth, urging him on. He darts his tongue out to rim her ass and she pushes back even harder. It’s a hint, if there ever was one, but she knows this is where he was headed anyway. They’ve been dancing around this one thing since the beginning, but never gone far enough to try.

He pushes his tongue to enter the rim, and there’s a loud moan followed by her hand clasping the back of his head, guiding him, not so patiently, further into her. 

“Scott...”

He lifts his head up for air, but truth be told, he loves her scent there. It’s a heady mix of tang and salt, rounded off with an unmistakable musk. He slithers his tongue there again and alternates between nipping into her ass cheeks. Slowly, he spreads her wide so he can see the tightness of her rear. Again he kisses, sucks, swirls, licks and spits, making sure she’s wet enough.

He swipes his tongue back down her cunt and sucks softly at her clit. His nose nudges into her, and she’s making sacrilegious noises somewhere above him, pushing back, enveloping him with her ass. His tongue makes its way back to the tight hole that’s getting more relaxedand sloppy with his attention, and it’s at exactly this moment that he pushes his thumb slowly into her.

At first she jerks against the sensation, letting out a sharp exhalation. But he stills her, and himself, so that she can get used to the stretch. He counts to ten in his head before he pushes in a little further, then withdraws a little. He can feel her hold her breath, so he takes his other hand from where it’s been pumping his cock to massage over her clit.

She lets out a long, low moan.

“How does that feel, baby?”

“Better if you’re inside me,” she nearly begs.

His cock jolts at her words. He’s never done this before, but fuck if he doesn’t want to with her. He pushes in again with his thumb, this time not as gentle, receiving a louder groan from her.

He starts fucking her with his thumb as he plays with her clit, then dipping two fingers into her sopping pussy. She pushes back against him, trying to get more from him, but it isn’t nearly enough.

“I’m ready, baby. Please,” she breathes unsteadily.

She hears him swear under his breath, and then there are no more words. He licks her again just to make sure she’s as ready as she claims, and positions himself behind her.

At first he swirls the tip of his cock against her entrance, drenching it a little into her soaking cunt to help lubricate the path. They’re both trembling as he enters her ass slowly. She’s feels so tight, clenched all around him, the sensation like a vice grip — he’s almost lightheaded from the physicality of it.

“Breathe, Tess,” he chokes out. He’s as much staggered by it as she is. “Get your vibrator.”

They haven’t used it together before, although he’s watched her use it on herself. When he pulls out slowly, she clambersto her bedside table to get it.

“Turn it on,” he commands.

She slides it over her dripping cunt, letting the vibrations thrum across her clit, while breathing out soft whimpers. Watching her now makes him impossibly hard and before he knows it, he’s grabbing her to line up to him again.

“Keep it there,” he whispers, his hands running the length of her body. Then he presses himself into her once again. This time the tightness is somewhat relieved, and he slides into her like he’s always belonged there.

“Oh my god,” she repeats over and over. _Yes_. This is what it feels like to have an out-of-body experience, except she is aware of every single fucking thing going on in her body.

She feels every single pulse of his cock.

She feels his hand loop around her hair, tugging in time to his deliberate thrusts.

She feels him bent over her as if he can hardly bear it, the pleasure so great, it almost feels like pain. “Holy fuck, Tess. You feel amazing,” he pants, pumping into her slowly, at first shallow, but then building up to drive himself all the way in.

She doesn’t even know how she has any control with him ramming into her so steadily, but when she slides the vibrator into her pussy, it nearly ends them both, so much so they need to pause. He feels the push and pulse of the vibrator through her walls, and the feeling of being completely filled in both orifices send her into absolute distraction.

She starts fucking herself and into him in shameless abandonment. There’s no more resistance now, her ass sliding easily back and forth along his cock. She never thought she’d enjoy it this much, but fuck if he doesn’t make her feel good, dirty and free. And that is what he wanted, wasn’t it? What he feared too? That he would break her with his desire and she would suffer for it. But desire isn’t a thing to fear, to be ashamed of, love neither.

The conflagration she feels deep within her erupts, leaving her shaking, trembling and entirely undone, with him tumbling not far behind, spilling his load onto her back in a volley of curses.

“Guess the abstinence thing didn’t work,” she laughs throatily, after a long while.

He’s holding her, the big spoon to her little spoon, the angular cuts of his body pressed against her drying sticky back. “Yeah, but the vibrator sure did. Now I know what the big deal’s all about.”

“This one’s got five-star reviews on Amazon,” she explains.

“I’m beginning to understand why.”

She loves him. Like this. With his hands caressing her absentmindedly, the way they did all those months ago even when they didn’t know each other’s names. They had been perfect strangers then, but now strangers no longer.

Just perfect.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I REALLY have crossed the line. Thoughts? You know where to find me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does domestic bliss look like for our lovers? It's a busy time, even during the off season! Buckle up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a heavy six months, and I think I speak for all when I say that 2020 needs to calm the fuck down. With that in mind, I really wanted to write something fun for #GymFic seeing as my last two one shots were either angsty/smutty or sad/sweet (insert shameful plug to read them anyway) and the fandom mood is just meh.
> 
> So here it is. A bigger chapter than usual (by my standards). Thank you for your patience, I hope it makes you smile!
> 
> Also, props to my beta and food porn inspiration Red_Rover!

Is he impulsive? Yes. Is he crazy? Maybe. Does he do things based on instinct, all heart, pure gut feel? Heck, more times than he’d care to remember but it’s served him more often than not.

He learned a long time ago that trusting himself is the only thing he can rely on. And so he set about honing his senses, refining his judgments and really getting deep into the heart of who he is — it’s the only way to move forward. 

Making the decision to return to his sport was something he hadn’t taken lightly. He didn’t come back just so he could say he tried. He did it because he knows no other way. Ever since he was a little kid, he knew. Knew he was going to be a winner somehow. 

He was always the quickest one out there on the ice, whizzing about without much care for technique or style until his very first coach sat his mama down and told her, “Speed means nothing without strategy”. And so began a childhood filled with structured training, scheduled competitions, and soon enough, the accolades. Making the junior national team at such a young age was an honour; he had worked hard, and he deserved every bit of it.

He’ll never forget the day the accident happened. He had been riding high from his results in every heat and finals of the 500m and 1000m events at the Junior Short Track Championships in Trois-Riveres.  


He knew it was going to come down to the wire in the 1500m final because of the close struggle between the top three. All he had to do was come second to win overall, but he wanted a clear cut triumph. The winner here would automatically go on to Worlds selection. His path to the Olympics the next year looked irrefutable.

Until, of course, it wasn’t. 

People watching short track have barely enough time to register what’s really going on the ice because the skaters go so fast. The truth is: time slows down when you’re in the flow. A tenth of a second is all you’ve got to find space, maybe even less. 

He thought it would have been enough. He _knew_ it was. That splintered fragment between drafting and launching into an explosive push in order to pass the leader. 

And he had made it. Just. 

Sliding on the outside of his opponent, his fingers skimmed the surface, crossovers swift and decisive as he cut through the ice and took over the lead. He could almost taste victory, her sweetness a whir on his lips, yet he knew the race was nowhere near won.

He kept at the head of the pack with a punishing pace, his flight around the oval lightning quick. One more lap to go and he would have clinched it. 

He often wonders what he could have done—better, differently—to have changed the outcome of that day. 

All he knows was that the edge of his blade caught suddenly when the skater behind him made an attack to overtake and soon both of them were careening towards the track’s heavily padded retaining wall at breakneck speed.

Whatever dreams he might have had for the Olympics didn’t die that day. They died eight months from that moment, after a broken fibula, three crushed toes, tendon lacerations, nerve damage, and almost every torn ligament in his ankle refused to heal the way he needed it to, even after three surgeries, a plate and eight screws.

He would eventually skate again, but in the months and years after, the feeling of utter failure would dog him until he finally gave up on the idea of full recovery, and by extension, his Olympic dream. It had taken some time, but he refocused and channelled his energies away from a short bout of destructive behaviour, instead earning a double degree in Exercise Science and Kinesiology, then a Masters in Strength, Conditioning and Rehabilitation. It was then that he decided to turn his own experience into helping other athletes achieve their dreams; he trained as an injury and reconditioning specialist; built up his resistance loading system; worked with athletes from elite university teams and eventually, thanks to his work ethic and reputation, the NHL and NBA.

The call he got over a year ago from Jenn and Dominick to work with some of the nation’s top level Olympic athletes would change his life once more. He might not have had the chance to do it for himself, but somehow, the five rings kept summoning him like a siren call.

Working with Tessa, that dream seems closer than ever. Through her, but also because of her. 

It’s funny how they say that failure is a way to gather data. What might have felt like failure in the moment often offers a chance to pivot and reassess with a newfound perspective. If someone had told him he’d be skating competitively again all these years later, he would have called them crazy.

Turns out he’s the crazy one after all. Making a comeback in his sport at 29 was deranged enough as it is, but expecting to be competitive at an elite level? Stark raving mad. 

Except there was science behind being an older, more experienced athlete, and he’s never been fitter or more dedicated. His injuries have healed, all that remains is perhaps the psychological scarring from those broken bones. Besides, Canadian legend Clara Hughes switched from cycling to speed skating at 28, winning Olympic gold at 34. And if Tessa could achieve what she’s set out to do after everything she’s been through, he could bloody well try.  


In any case, he’s only just qualified to compete in the East Short Track division, so it’s a good start to the next quadrennial, if he decides that’s what he wants.

***

“Hey, you.” 

It’s Tessa, and she’s popped in to his office late in the evening to work out together as promised. She’s only just been back a week, fresh from wrapping up an undefeated season, winning Four Continents in Gangneung and Worlds in Helsinki, while he’d also been away for work. He had wanted nothing more than to be there to support her, but spring training for his track athletes meant that their schedules had been in conflict. 

She doesn’t need to be here because it’s her off season, but she’s making up for lost time with him. There’s also no way she’s going to be slowing down just because she’s won a World Championship for the first time in her career. This past year has been a comeback dream, but she’s far from done, and she knows that an Olympic year changes things. A young French skater has been nipping ferociously at her heels and she’s determined to fight her down to the wire if necessary.

In any case, slacking isn’t in her vocabulary. Being busy keeps her sane, but she’s not going to go into how she uses that as a coping mechanism to counter the crash following a successful season. Instead, she’s already lined up her usual series of international shows, sponsorship obligations, and then it’s straight into training for her Olympic programmes.

_God, he’s missed her_. He doesn’t know how she can look so stunning in her workout clothes, but her fishtail braid, long line sports bra, washboard abs, and powerful limbs probably help a lot. He saunters over without saying a word and closes the door behind her, effectively trapping her in between his arms and the door. 

“Hey yourself,” he leans over, skimming his nose against hers. 

They’ve more than caught up physically since her return, but he simply can’t get enough of her. There’s a physicality between them that doesn’t seem to ebb, growing even stronger with every encounter. 

She feels it too. This must be the stuff that poets write about; the potency of an alchemic reaction. Her eyes shut in anticipation of his mouth bruising hers with want, but is surprised when his lips hover just a whisper out of reach. She takes a peek to study his expression—he is devastating in his concentration on her.

“Ready to hit the floor?” his warm breath caresses the corner of her smile.

A shiver rolls over her body as he continues teasing her in a series of playful, open-mouthed nips. Every time she tries to lean into his kiss, he’s quick to move away to her neck, her ears; focusing on stimulating another part of her body he knows will drive her senseless. He could spend time just caressing her, dusting his touch lightly across her all too sensitive skin, and she’s sure she could come from that alone. In fact, she already has, many times.

The thought of how he makes her body sing and its sheer instinctive reaction towards his hands causes her to release a quivered exhale. She seizes his clean-shaven jaw forcefully, finally capturing his lips in fervent, lingering clinch, to which he passionately responds. 

_The man can kiss_. He can also _tease_ and _tongue_ and _fuck_. 

It’s one thing to be utterly spellbound by somebody’s mind, it’s quite another for that somebody to also be equally matched sexually. She hadn’t realised how highly-sexed she was before meeting him—but now that he’s unlocked that part of her there’s no point in denying her lust for him. It’s much too late for that; not only is he tempting as hell in his all black T-shirt with rolled up sleeves and slim fit joggers, but there’s a danger and excitement kissing him right here. She just hopes Paul doesn't come crashing in to catch them at it again, Scout or no Scout. 

“I’m thinking of hitting something entirely different,” she murmurs, her hands running down his spectacularly peachy ass and thrusting him into her hips. She can feel his desire all too well—would now be the right time for her to tell him her fantasy of them getting down and dirty on the gym mats?

He kisses her again sweetly, slowly, but suddenly he’s all business, humming against her mouth. “Later…when we get home. Right now you’d better be ready to get your butt kicked.”

She accepts his challenge with a playful kiss, “Bring it on, Moir. I’ve got energy to burn!”

“You’re a sassy one today, aren’t you?“

“Mhmmmm, you’re going to find out just how much.”

“Oh, I look forward to it…” he bites her lower lip and sucks on it hard before impishly pushing her out of his office, leaving her a little bit breathless, a lot wet, and not quite sure what the fuck just happened. 

If he could, he would shower her with affection at every moment, not merely confined to the clandestine expression of their passion. But they’re still not official, and she’s not ready to announce anything just yet. It frustrates him because he’s nothing if not demonstrative, but he understands her need for privacy even as she meticulously constructs her image of openness and authenticity. When she is ready—if— he knows that it’ll be on her terms and not a moment before. And he’s alright with that. For now.

There is one thing he does need though, and that’s to disclose their status to his team. He doesn’t want to lose Jenn or Dominick’s trust, especially since he had specifically given them the whole ‘platonic business partners’ spiel a few months before. But that’s a conversation for later.

For now, there’s a small window that he gets to have her all to himself and he can’t wait. He’s being selfish he knows, yet the past nine months with her in his life has been the happiest, and the most fulfilling. 

The truth is, the anticipation of having a normal life with her is delicious. The good part about her off season is that they don’t have to manage her energy and chart how she expends it every single hour of every single day. They can actually take their time with each other; no rush, no rigid timelines to stick to. They can pretend to be an ordinary couple, if only for a little while.

But even the most average of couples don’t work out at the gym with their level of full on intensity.  


Today’s session has them pushing through a burning dryland workout, starting slow with the stationary bike for their warm-up, moving on to turn-belt resistance training, then 30 minutes of skate drills in place of ice training, ending with hurdle hops which she’s absolutely thrashing him at. There’s time enough for them to chat, joke and flirt, but they have to resist the urge to kiss every rest period during sets. They don’t want to be _that_ annoying fitspo couple on Instagram (or do they?), so they compromise with elaborate high fives and some not-so-discreet ass slapping. 

They’re trying hard to be subtle but it’s a wonder no one’s clocked them yet, with their highly-charged touching throughout their work out. Or maybe they’ve already been made, but the advantage of training late means there are less people around, even if it is a 24-hour facility. 

It occurs to Tessa how far they’ve come since the first time she laid eyes on him all those months ago—when she had so obviously thirsted for him, leading to their serendipitous rough and tumble. What began as a fleeting moment of sexy indulgence has evolved into so much more. If someone had asked her then where she would have seen herself, it certainly would not have been this version of domestic bliss amidst an Olympic cycle. 

And yet, in moments like these, when she’s smiling so hard that her face is aching, her body screaming in the best kind of pain, and her heart ready to burst with the love she feels so lucky to have found, there’s still something in her that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She knows it’s crazy, considering how supportive and loving he’s been, but it’s that inner voice that’s always plagued her. The one that keeps telling her she isn’t worthy.

But she doesn’t have time for this negative headspace, because they’re already on to the next part of their training, which is the stair jump workout.  


It’s something that Scott has been doing to up his cardio levels and slice through fat, but also train for explosions of pure power. Like box jumps, it’s all about the quads, hips, calves and ankles, and so they do 12 sets of sequential jumps every one, three and five steps, running down the steps in between, then repeating with one legged jumps for six sets, finishing off with one legged side jumps left and right for another six sets. 

Sounds simple, but it’s not. Even with Tessa’s full athletic fitness, this non-stop 45-minute HIIT sequence gets her muscles fired up and pumping with lactic acid.

“Still got that extra energy to burn, Virtue?” he teases, huffing and shirtless, sweat dripping down from the silver chain around his neck to his glistening chest. He must have taken his T-shirt off at some point—when did he do that?

She’s not about to let him show her up so she nods while she mops her forehead with a towel.

“Good, last one back here cooks dinner!” He throws his top and hoodie back on, gives her a sly wink and shoots out of the facility for a cool down run before she knows it.

“You little sneak!” she yells as she pulls on her sweatshirt and runs after him laughing. She’ll be damned if he’s going to cheat her into making dinner, especially since he knows how much she hates cooking, but maybe she isn’t so mad to chase that delectable view of his ass after all. 

Perhaps there’s little point waiting for that shoe. Emotionally, he’s stepped up to the plate every time she’s felt like running away. Whatever running she’s doing now is meeting him where he’s at—she’s all in, jumping with both feet, eyes wide open, and a full heart.

***

“So,” Scott says wiping his fingers on the kitchen towel casually draped over his shoulder. He’s just drained some fingerling potatoes from a boiling pot, shocking them in ice water and using a sharp paring knife to slip them from their skins with practised ease. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Does it have to do with how sexy you are when you fake lose and have to cook?” 

They’re at his place making fish for dinner, and by they, it’s really Scott who’s doing the bulk of the cooking since he let her win. In all honesty, she prefers to watch him. Something in the way he moves while utterly concentrated fascinates her.  


The way he skillfully butchered the fish; slicing the fillets off with a sharp, flexible knife, expertly plucked the pin bones from the pink flesh, and evenly scored the skin to keep the fish from curling when it cooks was graceful in the same way his hands and fingers are when it comes to handling her.  


He transfers the potatoes into a small sauce pot simmering in brown butter, before pulling her into a languid kiss. “I mean, the sexiness is a given, we kind of don’t need to talk about that.”

“So confident,” she mocks, bopping his nose. 

“I think you’ll find the term is BDE.”

She snorts. Modesty is not one of his redeeming qualities. But he does make a good point.

Scott crushes a clove of garlic between his palm and the vein-cut Calacatta marble kitchen countertop. After stripping a few sprigs of rosemary and thyme of their leaves, he sweeps all the aromatics into the pot with a casual flourish. Then he dives right into heart of the matter, “I know we decided to wait before telling anyone, but I really need to come clean to the team. At least the big bosses.”

She takes a deep inhale, knowing this had been coming somehow. As much as she needs to control her personal life and how her image comes across to the outside world, it would be unfair to deny him agency over their relationship. “Full disclosure?”

“Yep.”

“I understand why you have to do it, but I just don’t want you losing your job over me. What do you think they’ll say?”

Scott stirs and tastes the foaming brown butter, giving out a low satisfied sound before adding a sprinkling of Guérande sea salt flakes. “They’re French Canadian, so who really knows?” 

There’s a long pause; he’s waiting for her to say something, or laugh, but she doesn’t. 

So he holds his palm over the frying pan, testing the heat before seasoning the scored trout with sea salt and freshly cracked pepper. “We’re adults, Tess. We met before I started working with the team,” he shrugs. “We’ve been professional…you’ve been winning.”

“But they sat you down for a chat last time.”

He nods, placing the fillets skin-side down into the shimmering oil while he waits as they sizzle and hiss. “They asked me to be straight with them, if anything were to happen. At that point, I didn’t know what we were. If there even was a ‘we’.”

“And what are we now?” She’s half playful, but there is a thoughtfulness behind her expression. 

He checks the underside of the fish, flips them to reveal the crisp, browned skin and finishes the last few seconds of cooking on the flesh side. Only then does he take the pan off the heat, wiping his beautifully veined hands, and turns to look at her.

He runs his hands up behind her neck, massaging her shoulders, then undoes her messy top knot. With lusty fingers combing lightly through her loose hair, damp from the shower they took together post workout, he slots his muscular legs in between her parted thighs. Their hips grind gently against the other, their mouths seeking truth.  


He’s hard again, wanting, even after their quick, slippery jaunt in his bathroom. If he would drop down to his knees right this moment, she’d be ready for him to taste her soaking sweetness and more.

“The next big thing,” he whispers, kissing her again. There’s a slow bloom forming a more tangible shape from the feeling he had in his heart at Christmas. He knows what he wants, but like the run, he just needs to wait for her to catch up.

Her stomach growls suddenly, and they both burst out laughing despite the desire that’s growing between them.

“Hmmm…you need food don’t you, baby? How the heck have you survived all this while?”

She laughs out loud, then mumbles sheepishly. “Poached eggs?”

He makes a gasp of mock horror and releases her from his embrace. “Here, help me with this,” he says, grabbing the pot of vibrant green beans that he blanched earlier. Once they’re seasoned and drizzled with a healthy dose of olive oil, he passes them over to Tessa so she can start plating.

While she’s busy doing that, he removes a knife from a wooden block, sliding the gleaming edge across a honing rod before taking hold of a bundle of chives. His effortless slicing leaves perfect green rings in its wake, which are then added into a bowl of tangy crème fraîche that is to be artfully drizzled over the potatoes. 

Once Tessa is done arranging the potatoes alongside the green beans, Scott props the golden fillets on top of the vegetables. Finally, a knob of parsley butter crowns the fish before he finishes off his masterpiece with a squeeze of fresh lemon and a pinch of flaky salt.

She looks up at him in wonder, curious as to where on earth he learned how to cook like that. Sure, he may be a god in the bedroom, but there is nothing more sensual than the finesse he shows in the kitchen, the pride he takes in spoiling her. It makes her love him all the more, and want to devour him whole. 

“What?” he asks, catching the flicker of greed that crosses her face.

She shakes her head slowly, lips biting, eyes drinking him in. Nothing. _Everything_.

“C’mon, let’s eat,” he makes his way to the dining table, balancing the plates on his wrists.“And then I’m _really_ going to feed you.”

***

There’s a lot to juggle if he’s being honest. In between his coaching, his newly competitive skating, the exoskeleton business, and dare he say it—girlfriend—, life is coming at him from all sides. Yet Scott’s never felt calmer and more focused. He realised from an early age that he’s just one of those people who doesn’t crack under pressure. But when he walks into Dominick’s office the next day for the much anticipated chat, he’s feeling mildly nervous. 

_Just be honest, and say what you need to say with all your heart_. 

Showing vulnerability has never been an issue for Scott. If people respond to that, wonderful, if not, too bad. What anyone else thinks of him isn’t his business. Dominick, however, has been a mentor to him in his early coaching years. In fact, he’s the reason why Scott went into the field in the first place. So what he thinks does matter somewhat.

“Scott, have a seat,” Dominick welcomes. He’s a slim, fit man, in his mid 40’s, good looking with chiselled movie star looks, salt-and-pepper hair and horn-rimmed glasses. “Ça va?”

“Oui, tout va bien. Un peu chargé, mais bon,” Scott’s French leaves much to be desired, so he switches back to English, “I can’t complain, life is good.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” there’s a strong trace of the French Canadian accent, but Scott’s getting used to it having been in Montreal since last summer. “A little bird told me that you’ve been very busy indeed.”

He braces himself for rumours about Tessa. “Oh?”

“Your skating comeback. I can’t say I’m surprised,” Dominick says, “but I didn’t think it’d be that soon.”

Scott is relieved. He didn’t want Dominick to find out through the grapevine. “Neither did I. I can assure you it’s not distracting me from the incredible work here.”

“Non, I didn’t think it would. You’re doing a great job, Scott. Jenn and I are so happy to have you on the team. Every one of our athletes has had nothing but praise for you. But I am curious, what was your motivation?”

“Working in this field, with such dedicated athletes, in this facility. It reminded me of the indomitable spirit of sport; yours amongst others, and what I used to feel,” Scott smiles.

Prior to founding his organisation, Dominick was a freestyle ski coach and before that, an Olympic moguls skier. His dream of winning at Nagano came to a grinding halt when he had to undergo a major knee operation just two weeks before the Games. He competed anyway, even if he had to ski the run on one leg. He finished 17th.

Dominick breaks into a grin. “Well, I’m glad. You’ve always had the fire Scott, even at a young age. It’s exciting to see again.”

“Actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Fire?”

“Yes,” Scott says slowly. “Tessa. We’re together.”

“Ah.”

“I just want you to know that we met prior to me starting here, and when you asked me months ago, nothing had happened.”

“But now you’ve fallen in love?”

Scott nods.

“Scott, you know that this program affects her as much as it does you. She’s one of only 20 athletes chosen every quad to receive full support in order to achieve excellence. Her situation is a little different, considering she only has two years to prep. The only thing that can give her the freedom to excel at her best is the knowledge that she is perfectly prepared.”

“And she is. No one works harder, or is more focused than she is. She’s going to win it.” 

“I’m not just talking about her,” says Dominick. “You can’t always control the results, but external factors can influence the outcome. This is why athletes need to control everything they can, that way, no matter what happens, it’s acceptable. But having regrets _is_ unacceptable. Is she going to regret this if she doesn’t win? Are _you_?”

And there it is. The crux of the matter.

Scott stays silent. He knows he isn’t being lectured, but Dominick is right, and for all the right reasons.

“Look,” Dominick sighs, “I’m not saying what you can or cannot do. If you’re both in love, c’est magnifique. Peak performance isn’t a one size fits all approach. Happiness and stability are great motivators.

But what I’m asking you, both of you, to think seriously about is how what you do and what you say at a critical moment can become a make or break factor. It takes time to build that impactful relationship where trust becomes undeniable. Only then can you get the best out of someone. I know this; I coach Jenn, and we work, but we’ve had years.”

This man is dropping some serious truth bombs. No wonder he’s a sought after speaker, brilliant mentor, motivating coach, and head of the best sports foundation in Canada, if not the world.

“Dominick, you know I respect you and your counsel. It’s why I came to you. I’m grateful for this position and I owe you my complete honesty,” Scott starts. “I know it looks like a flash in the pan, roll in the hay sort of thing because it’s been so quick, but I love Tessa.

I want nothing more than her success and I want you to know that we’re working together, to achieve a common goal. 

Hers. 

Not mine.”

And it’s true. He’s never thought much about what he’s wanted out of all of this for himself except her love. But not to the exception of her dreams.  


Everything he’s done up to this point, has been for her. Her training, when he gave her distance, when she turned up at his doorstep (maybe him a little), later denying his own gratification so he wouldn’t damage her chances. All of it.

She tells him as much after he recounts the conversation when they are curled up and cuddling in bed later that night. “You’ve never asked more than what I could give,” she gently tucks a curl of his hair behind his ear.

“But I don’t want you to regret us. The idea that I might get in your way of gold,” he shakes his head, “I couldn’t do it.”

So that’s it. The other shoe. 

The irony is not that she isn’t worthy, but that he thinks she’s worth so much more. The fact that he would give it all up so she can be successful. She understands why it’s said being an Olympic athlete is a selfish thing. It made sense to her before. But now, with him in her life, she knows he brings an edge she’s never had before. 

_Happiness_.

“Just say the word, Tess,” he continues, rubbing her arm softly. “If you still want to, we can pick this up after PyeongChang.”

She nearly loses her temper at this suggestion. Scott has been nothing but selfless at every turn, and she is not prepared to abandon their relationship because of some imaginative and predictive guilt. “You are _not_ walking away from me, Scott Patrick Moir!”

Scott stares at her open-mouthed. It might be the first time he’s heard her raise her voice, outside their bedroom shenanigans. Her hair is wild and she’s sitting up, incensed.

She clambers onto him and grabs both his wrists, pushing them roughly down to the mattress. “I. Am. Not. Letting. You. Go,” she seethes, quietly now. 

He’s stunned at how vehement she is, but also more than a little turned on. He lifts his head up to try and kiss her.

She pushes his bare chest back down. “Don’t try to change the subject. You’re _not_ going to weasel your way out of this, and we’re most certainly _not_ going to pick _this_ up later, got it?” her thighs grip around the trunk of his body a little tighter.

He looks at her with intense eyes, admiring her conviction. Not too long ago, he was the one trying to convince her. The thought makes him break into a lopsided grin. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. “ _Now_ can we change the subject?”

With that she finally allows him to kiss her, before pitching him a condom foil from the bedside table, impatient for him to roll it on. He complies without question, as she pushes her boy shorts to the side, poised to slide her already wet and wanting pussy over his proud length, then mounting him quickly with a dirty moan upon her lips. 

It’s an anger fuck, he knows, as he helps her ride him hard and slick. Almost as if she’s trying to prove everyone wrong, even him, but he doesn’t care. 

Time will tell how it’ll all turn out, but he’s betting on the best things because of her. Dominick may be right, but Scott is ready to attest that they’re in it for the long haul.

***

Tessa hasn’t done this before. Watch Scott compete, that is, even though he’s been to quite a few of her performances. She’s nervous, not only for him, because it’s the biggest meet he’s ever qualified for since he started competing again, but also for her for some odd reason. Every time the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, her tummy does flip flops anticipating Scott’s name. 

It’s the Canadian East Short Track Championships, taking place in Ottawa, and it’s the last major national race of the season before the Olympic team selections so it’s kind of a big deal. He’s already skated a heat this morning, to end up in the final six. Tessa’s missed the first round, because she was scheduled on a photo shoot this morning and had to drive two hours in order to come watch him. 

She had wanted to sneak into the stadium incognito, not draw any attention. Despite the difference in disciplines, the skating world is small enough to recognise who she is, but she might have already been spotted by a couple of journalists from CBC Sports and TSN. 

She knows the speeds at which short track skaters go, but she imagines Scott competing in a group makes a world of difference compared to watching him skate alone. Witnessing some of the other heats had her heart beating out of her chest; she doesn’t think figure skating could be this nerve-wracking.

Scott doesn’t realise that Tessa’s here, mostly because she had told him she wasn’t sure if she’d be finished in time. But it’s also because he’s in the zone and he’s got his game face on. It’s the 1500m final, and he’s only got 13 laps left to complete. 13 laps to prove that he’s not just an almost-has-been. 13 laps to battle it out on a national stage when the season begins in August. 

It doesn’t matter whether he wins or not. It surprises him to be at this level so soon after he started competing, never imagining he could even be equal to some of the athletes he’d been studying. But muscle memory has kicked in, and so have all those killer instincts he had honed, once upon a time. His mind is made up, and his body follows. Nothing, and no one, can stop him. 

He’s feeling good, limber, warmed up. He’s ready.

Soon the announcer calls the finalists to the track, introducing each skater. He’s in third position, stroking slowly across the mirror-like surface to take his spot while strapping on his helmet and protective eye gear. He looks around, some of these guys are a decade younger than him. 

Quicker? Perhaps. More powerful? He doubts it.

All eyes are on him. He’s a newsworthy item, for sure—who doesn’t love a comeback story? Young speed skater on the cusp of Olympic glory crashes out in injury only to return more than a decade later to make a bid for his crown. Or something to that effect.

He can’t be bothered with all of that. Right now, all that matters is the distance between his starting position and the finish line. Anything can happen. But there is only one outcome he’s visualising.

“Go to the start,” calls the announcer.

The skaters take their positions, digging their left blades into the ice, the right blades slightly off a perpendicular angle.

“Ready…”

Scott crouches, his left arm crooked, right arm poised behind him. 

The moment the signal goes off, there’s some jockeying to gain the top three positions before the second corner, and Scott finds himself in second place momentarily before being passed quickly on the straight to fall back into third. It takes another lap before he slips into second again, where he follows the even rhythm of the leading skater. 

They stay like this for two laps, hands behind their backs, gliding fluidly along the glassy plane of ice. There’s a break in the ranks behind them in an attempt to gain positions; the crowd lets out a roar, and Tessa almost can’t watch, peeking behind her palms.  


They’re going nearly 40km per hour, gathering momentum with powerful pushes on the straights and skillful crossovers in every corner. With nine laps to go, there almost seems to be two races going on, one in the back of the field where a mad scramble ensues, and another at the front—rhythmic, graceful, almost hypnotic.

Watching Scott skate like this is at once poetic and eloquent. There’s power in his bursts of speed, yet nothing looks laboured. His crossovers are controlled, his fingers barely skimming the frozen surface, not wanting the friction to slow him down as he seeks to overtake. 

A large part of winning is having the right strategy to pass other skaters at the right moment. He’s watched countless videos over the years, studied the best short track skaters, witnessed manifold strategic permutations, formulated race plans.  


The skill is to find a whisper of space, an opening, and take it.

Suddenly, there’s a challenge from mid-field, and the top three changes in a blink of an eye, with Scott dropping back down to third. Tessa holds her breath as she watches Scott make his move. With only six laps to go, he takes advantage of the straight, pushing forcefully on the outside into second position right as he hits the corner. But he isn’t finished, because as soon as the track opens up to the straight, he uses his momentum to slice like a hot knife through butter on the inside to take first position. 

Five laps to go and the race starts to get frantic. Scott not only has to hold this position, but push faster to build a strong lead. Another break from behind results in one skater crashing out, but Scott doesn’t even notice. All hell breaks loose inside him, the grace still there but he’s pressing hard, glutes and calves burning. 

Tessa looks up at the screen and the speed counter shows Scott clocking in a speed of 46km per hour now. He’s fighting for it, and with the bell signalling the final lap, she can see he’s giving it all he’s got, sweeping his arms back and forth for greater velocity.  


When he crosses the finish line, he’s jubilant with his fists up in the air. She couldn’t be happier for him, and in her excitement runs down the steps of the stadium stands in order to get closer to the athlete enclosure.

It’s a championship record. He’s hugging his team coach by the track paddings, before stroking around the oval to cool down. He can’t believe it. His first win since he started this journey back to his sport. He’s euphoric, all the horrific memories of his accident finally relegated to the past for good. 

All he can think of is Tessa. How proud she would be of him. How she’s the reason he’s here.

He looks out into the sea of faces, and that’s when he catches a glimpse of her radiant face. He makes a fast stop on the ice, almost jumping on top of the padding, gesturing for her to come closer to the barriers. 

“You did it!” she whoops over the sound of the crowd.

He laughs joyfully and pulls her into a firm hug across the padding. “You made it!” 

There are no words to express her elation, so she hugs him tighter, her fingernails digging into his race suit.

He looks around them, as if checking whether anyone is within earshot. “I love you so much,” he says in a low voice.

Her eyes are blurry with hot tears when she looks up at him. She wants to kiss him, so badly, but not in the middle of a full stadium, with all eyes on him. So she settles for a whispered “I love you too.”

When he takes his place at the top step of the podium to receive his medal, it feels like she’s just won as well.

***

The thumping rhythm of the bar thrums his insides. This isn’t a place he’d go to normally but its cool piscine bathhouse vibes, fun R&B-funk music and tropical themed cocktails have got him feeling loose and relaxed. His skate club teammates and coaches wanted to celebrate, and why the fuck not? It’s been a pretty great day with wins all round and they’re hitting the best bars back in Montreal. 

Tessa’s right by his side, dressed in a sparkly red and black halter top and skirt combo which shows off her amazing midriff, while he’s dressed in a simple but sharp tonal navy look with a fitting long sleeve top with discreet side mesh panels and slim pants. No surprises there, he knows what looks good on him and he doesn’t mess with the formula. What he can’t decide is whether he should be jealous at his teammates’ adoring, maybe even lustful, gazes toward Tessa or the surprise he feels that she’s out here in public with him, as his girlfriend. 

There’s been no shortage of affection from her end. In fact, she’s been positively handsy. It’s unexpected. Maybe it’s the dark, intimate setting of the club, maybe it’s because of his conversation with Dominick, or maybe for some mysterious reason, coming to watch him compete seems to have changed her mind about being open with their relationship. Whatever it is, she’s not being careful, and she can’t stop touching him.

Not that he minds it, of course, but he eyes her warily, wondering how many drinks she’s had. He knows she can’t have had more than a couple, but then he remembers how little it takes to get her tipsy, seeing how low her alcohol tolerance is because of her strict on-season diet. 

“Let’s dance,” he grabs hold of her hand and pulls her onto the swimming pool-inspired mosaic tiled dance floor. She throws him a look of astonishment; aside from a little shuffle and slide in her kitchen, Christmas slow dancing and striking goofy moves, he’s never shown that much interest for dancing.

She shouldn’t have been taken unawares, after all, when he’s on the ice he moves with an otherworldly ease. Plus his hips don’t lie, so there’s that. 

The DJ’s playing a mix of funky old school hip hop, 80’s chart toppers and contemporary pop, and they’re burning up the club to the likes of Bowie, Usher, Diana Ross, Prince, Micheal Jackson, The Weeknd and even the annoyingly overplayed Ed Sheeran. Scott’s completely unself-conscious and laughing, which makes her join in the fun and let go too. 

When the music moves into the opening riffs of a Bieber song, he makes a face, but twirls her around anyway. It’s the music for Tessa’s exhibition performance from last season and such a vibrant number to perform. He’s watched her practice it so many times, he practically knows all the moves, so he surprises her with some of her own choreography, adding some of his own flair. He’s actually doing it seriously, without any trace of mockery, and with all the attitude he can muster. 

“Oh hel-lo, who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend?” Tessa grabs a hold of his shirt. 

He smirks, “It’s all BDE, baby!”

She rolls her eyes playfully, but she’s so game. “You’ve been holding out on me, Moir.”

“You going to keep talking or you going to dance?”

She replies with a sassy flick of her arm, getting back into the choreography. When she hooks her hands around his neck, Scott styles and spins away with a little duck of his head under her arm. 

She lets out a small gasp. Scott dancing is one thing, but Scott dancing to a reggaeton-dancehall Bieber number no less is sexy as fuck. He’s giving her his sex face, popping in some body waves and moving her around him with head rolls and dips to spare.  


At the chorus break, he mouths the words _‘Cause I’m missing more than just your bodyyyyy,_ dragging his hands down from her breasts to her ass, lips lingering in a small kiss on her shoulder. They shimmy and shine together, even popping in a lift, to the appreciation of the crowd. It would be hard not to notice them out on the dance floor with their combustible energy. In fact, a small circle has formed around them to give them more space to slut things up. 

_This is going to end up on the internet somehow_ , she thinks. But frankly, she’s not even mad about it. If it’s going to get out there in the world, shouldn’t it be fun and authentic at least? She’s done hiding behind her carefully crafted press friendly veneer. This is who she is. Front and centre. 

In love with dance, in love with life. 

In love with Scott. 

And so she dances with him like no one’s watching; sensual, vivacious. He returns the favour with the same potency.

When the song is over she quizzes him, “Seriously, where did you learn how to dance like that?”

“Not going to lie, I didn’t think the Latin dance lessons mom forced me to learn as a kid were going to come in handy,” he cracks. 

“I hope that’s not how you were dancing as a kid. It’s perverse!”

He laughs, scooping her up and wrapping her in a bear hug. 

“Anyway, what makes you think it’ll come in handy?”

He stills, looking right into her eyes. His lips finds hers and they kiss, deep and sultry. She’s having such a wonderful time she doesn’t even care to back off, not worrying that they’re in public now. She kisses him back with as much hunger and happiness that she feels. 

_Let them see her. Let them talk._ She’s so blissed out, it doesn’t even matter anymore. 

“You going to keep talking or take me home?” Scott murmurs in her ear.

There can be no doubt as to which choice she makes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light on smut? Too much romance? Tell me your thoughts here or on Twitter @lapetitemort20, or better yet BOTH!


End file.
